Or  CALlf QRNI 


61FT  OF 
ROBERT 
BELPHER. 


38>Bt 


' 


hifting  Scenes 


P  O  K  M  S 


T.   J. 


SAN   FRANCISCO 
THE    BANCROFT   COMPANY,    PUBLISHERS 

1889 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  Year  1889.  by 

T.  J.  RICHARDS 
Iii  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington 

All  Rights  Reserved 


TO 

MY  MOTHER 

This  Book  is  Affectionately  Dedicated 


134825 


PREFACE 


Four  years  ago,  I  came  to  the  Golden  State,  seeking  the  benefits 
of  its  "  glorious  climate."  During  a  period  of  enforced  leisure,  I 
employed  part  of  my  time  in  writing  verses  for  different  papers  in 
this  State  and  elsewhere. 

Collecting  those  and  others  I  had  written  before,  I  made  arrange 
ments  with  A.  L.  Bancroft  &  Co.  to  publish  them  in  one  volume. 

But  with  the  loss  of  their  house  by  fire  my  work  was  consumed 
just  on  the  eve  of  completion  ;  and  my  first  votary  gift  on  the  Altar 
of  the  Muses  was  a  burnt  offering.  I  now  present  a  number  of 
my  poems  in  this  little  book,  hoping  they  may  receive  whatever 
degrea  of  attention  and  patronage  their  merits  may  demand. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

AFTER  THE  WAR  157 
AFTER  VACATION 

As  LITTLE  CHILDREN      -        -  20 

AT  THE  SPRINGS — MORNING  SCENE  77 

AT  THE  SPRINGS — EVENING  SCENE         -  70 

AUTUMN  LEAVES  140 

BECAUSE  105 

BEREAVED  -  121 

BRASS  CUT  BRASS  27 

CALIFORNIA  VILLAGE,  A     -  98 

CARL        -        -        -  18 

CHRISTMAS  29 

CROSSING  THE  PLAINS  61 

CROSSING  THE  MOUNTAINS  65 

DECORATION  DAY  96 

EPIGRAMS    -  155 

FLOWER,  A  14 

EORBIDDEN  2(> 

FRAGMENT,  A  -  74 

GOLDEN  WEDDING,  A  123 
I  DREAMED  THAT  You  LOVED  ME        -                                   -        129 

INDEPENDENCE  DAY — 1886  81 

INDEPENDENCE  DAY  108 

IN  THE  CITY        -        -  136 

IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  134 
JENNIE  ON  THE  BANKS  OF  BONNIE  DOON                            -        -       85 

LABOR  AND  REST    -                                                              .  15 
L'ENVOI      -                                                                               -        -     164 
LESSON,  A       -------                         .        145 

LETTER  TO  MY  MOTHER,  A  -       89 

LINES  IN  AN  ALBUM        -        -  73 

Loss    -  -     103 

LAW  OF  LOVE,  THE  119 

LIFE'S  POEMS      -        -  19 

MAIDEN'S  GRAVE,  THE  -  63 

MEMORIAL  DAY  -     lib 

MISTS       -        -  139 
MOTHER'S  Kiss,  A                                                -        -        -        -     162 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MY  BETE  NOIR        -  114 

MY  LOVE                                               -        .  161 

MY  MOTHER'S  GONE       -  130 

MY  NATIVE  VILLAGE  37 

MY  NEIGHBOR  2X 

NOT  AN  EARTHLY  KINGDOM       -        -  -     107 

OH!  SING  ME  A  SONG    -  113 
OLD  SCHOOLHOUSE,  THE    -                                                     -        -       32 

ONLY  A  LETTER      -        -  21 

()  TEMPORES,  O  MORES  -     100 
PACIFIC,  THE                                                                          .        -          67 

PARTED                                                             .         -        -         -  137 
PAST,  THE                                                                                       -         122 

PERHAPS  'TIS  BEST    -                           .         -         -         -  -       17 

PICTI-RE,  A     -  106 

PRELUDE  -        9 

PURIFIED  138 

REMEMBRANCE    -  -      93 

REST        -  133 

SEPARATION  -       83 

SHE  MUST  NOT  KNOW    -  97 

SHIFTING  SCENES        -  -       11 

SONG  FOR  THE  TLMES,   A        -  120 

SUMMER  FANTASY,  A  94 

SUMMER  SCENE,  A  141 

THANKSGIVING  DAY  -       24 

THOUGHTS  ON  LIFE  31 
To  AN  ABSENT  ONE                                                         .         -        -     160 

To—  132 

Two  HOMES  70 

Two          -        -  86 

VACATION  MUSINGS  147 

VALLEY  OF  CAPAY,  THE  156 

VALLEY  OF  SAN  JOAQUIN,  THE  -      92 

WASTED  HOURS       ...  87 

WHEN  MY  SHIP  COMES  IN  118 

WITHIN  89 

WORLD,  THE 71 


PRELUDE 


V      °p 

Qrefuele 


HY  should  you  sing?"  a  critic  said  to  me ; 
"  Your  fathers  never  sang;  and  can  you  then 
Expect  to  pour  a  flood  upon  the  world, 
Whose  richest  note  shall  find  a  faint  response 
Within  the  human  heart?    From  fairy  groves 
Enchanted,  redolent  with  odors  sweet 
From  tropic  flowers,  where  waters  dark 
Glide  noiselessly  'neath  overhanging  boughs, 
Or  catching  glimpses  of  a  radiant  sun 
Through  rifted  archways,  scintillate  with  joy, 
Comes  music  sweet  from  many  a  bird  of  song; 
With  beauty  in  its  varied  forms  and  hues 
Begirt,  their  notes  will  carry  the  impress 
Of  their  surroundings.     So  the  poet,  who 
AVould  have  his  song  touch  with  a  moving  power 
The  heart  of  the  vast  universe,  and  live 
Through  coming  years,  must  in  an  atmosphere 
Of  harmony  be  schooled."     And  I  replied : 
'Tis  said  that  many  leagues  a  river  may 
Flow  'neath  the  ground ;  and  ere  we  are  aware 
Will  issue  forth  and  make  the  meadows  gay 
With  variegated  hues ;  and  so  with  life : 
There  is  an  undercurrent  in  the  thoughts 
Of  men  for  ages,  till  some  day  it  breaks 


10  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Into  a  ripple  of  bright  song;  and  then 
We  stand  and  wonder  that  it  can  be  thus  ; 
And  sometimes  by  the  beaten  road  we  hear, 
From  some  lone  warbler  covered  with  the  dust 
From  passing  pilgrims,  music  rich  and  rare. 
And  may  we  not  among  the  lowly  find 
One  who  may  sit  beside  the  trodden  paths 
Of  earth,  and  make  them  resonant  with  song? 
Much  need  has  lie  of  knowledge,  and  to  feel 
What  other  hearts  have  felt,  and  have  a  wide 
Experience ;  but  yet,  I  sometimes  think 
That  learning  can  but  make  a  greater,  not 
A  truer  poet." 


SHIFTING  .SCENES  11 


VALLFY  grand 

Filled  by  a  band 
Of  gallant  sons  and  lovely  daughters; 

A  river  wide 

Whose  currents  glide 
From  frozen  fields  to  sunny  waters. 

A  merry  rune 

Of  rosy  June 
Sung  by  a  joyous  youth  and  maiden  ; 

A.  pleasant  stroll 

O'er  dell  and  knoll, 
Then  home-returning  flower-laden. 

The  hum  of  bees 

'Neath  spreading  trees 
That  arch  the  murmurming  streamlets  over; 

Sweet  songs  of  birds, 

The  low  of  herds 
That  graze  in  fragrant  fields  of  clover. 

The  stifling  air, 

The  lightning's  glare, 
The  mutter  of  the  distant  thunder; 

The  driving  blast 

Wide  sweeping  past, 
The  forest  giants  rent. asunder. 


SHIFTING  SCENES 


A  silvery  *heen 

The  banks  between, 
The  music  of  the  brooklet  stopping ; 

Storm-clouds  unrolled 

O'er  field  and  wold, 
And  snowflakes  dimly  downward  dropping. 

A  parting  sigh, 

A  last  good-by 
To  cherished  friends  and  kindred  spoken  ; 

Love's  golden  chain 

Drawn  out  amain, 
But  with  each  tender  link  unbroken. 


A  wide  expanse, 

A  passing  glance, 
An  ever-swraying  onward  motion 

Unto  the  West 

Where  sinks  to  rest, 
The  red  sun  in  the  misty  ocean. 

Bright  crowns  of  snow, 

Dark  clouds  below, 
A  swift  descent  from  lofty  mountains 

A  bursting  through 

The  mists  into 
A  view  of  sunlit  fields  and  fountains. 


SHIFTING  SCENES  13 

A  reach  of  plain, 

Where  golden  grain 
Glows  'neath  the  molten  skies  o'er-arching ; 

A  night  of  stars 

And  streaming  bars — 
Past  all  the  moon  so  stately  marching. 

A  glimmering  light 

On  orchards  white, 
And  purple  clusters  downward  bending; 

The  liquid  tones 

Of  tropic  zones 
With  Northland  voices  strangely  blending. 

A  gleam  of  gold 

In  canons  old 
'Neath  rills  from  snow-capped  summits  flowing; 

A  sun-kissed  vale, 

A  perfumed  gale — 
The  breath  of  orange-blossoms  blowing. 


A  youth  unknown 

Who  walks  alone — 
A  simple  wreath  his  treasure  only — 

And  views  serene, 

Kach  shifting  scene, 
Through  all  his  devious  wanderings  lonely. 


14  .SHIFTING    SCENES 


J\   SJfoooer 

CROSS  the  street 
busy  feet 

Of  laughing  childhood  stray; 
While  from  the  bowers 
Incense  of  flowers 

Floats  out  each  summer  day. 

The  passers  by 
Will  oft  draw  nigh 

To  view  the  happy  scene ; 
For  pictures  rare 
Will  banish  care 

And  make  our  life  serene. 

One  only  flower 

Is  in  my  bower 
And  fe\v  will  pass  this  side, 

And  pause  to  see 

How  fair  it  be, 
Although  my  joy  and  pride. 

But  yesterday 
There  came  this  way 

A  child  with  golden  hair, 
And  asked  that  she 
This  flower  might  see 

That  seemed  to  her  so  fair. 


A    FLOWER 

And  so  I  write 

My  verses  light, 
And  place  them  humbly  here ; 

And  it  will  be 

A  joy  to  me 
If  but  one  heart  they  cheer. 


15 


r  anc[ 

EYOND  the  mountain  heights  of  Pain 
There  lieth  Italy's  fair  plain  ; 
And  who  would  reach  that  glittering  prize, 
So  tempting  unto  human  eyes, 
Must  daily  strive  those  heights  to  cross, 
Nor  count  the  labor  nor  the  loss. 
The  years  may  come,  the  years  may  go, 
But  still  the  progress  will  be  slow ; 
Though  many  mountains  we  cross  o'er 
Yet  others  ever  rise  before  ; 
And  dangers  we  shall  daily  find 
As  great  as  those  we  leave  behind. 
We  strive  through  youth  and  manhood's  prime 
And  through  declining  age  we  climb ; 
Till  on  some  mountain  height  we  stand 
And  view  afar  the  Promised  Land  ; 


Of  THE 

UNWERSIT 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


How  few  \vhile  toiling  o'er  the  way 

Can  glean  some  pleasure  for  each  day  ? 

How  few  beguile  a  weary  hour 

By  gazing  on  some  wayside  flower  ? 

Or  in  the  journey  ever  look 

With  rapture  on  the  babbling  brook, 

That  wanders  through  the  valleys  green 

And  adds  new  beauty  to  the  scene. 

Our  thoughts  are  on  the  far  away, 

The  glittering  prize  we'll  win  some  day ; 

And  thus  we  labor  evermore, 

With  crosses  here  and  crowns  before ; 

Yet  still  methinks  he  toileth  best, 

Who  in  his  labor  findeth  rest. 


PERHAPS    'T  IS    BEST  17 


lERHAPS  'tis  best  we  may  not  know  the  morrow, 
The  weary  rugged  paths  our  feet  shall  tread ; 

The  dark  and  unrelenting  clouds  of  Sorrow- 
That  in  the  future  will  hang  overhead. 

Perhaps  't  is  best  that  we  should  toil  and  strive  ; 

Rest  comes  more  sweet  unto  our  own  fireside 
When  to  each  duty  we  have  been  alive, 

From  morn  till  noon,  from  noon  till  eventide. 

Perhaps  't  is  best  the  past  has  had  its  woes ; 

'T  will  fit  us  for  the  trials  yet  to  be  ; 
Perhaps  't  is  best  that  they  should  come — who  knows  ? 

Although  their  justice  now  we  may  not  see. 

Perhaps  't  is  best  the  Crown  is  still  before. 
While  presses  heavily  each  day  the  Cross ; 

We  yet  may  know  before  our  toils  are  o'er, 

'T  will  be  our  gain,  what  now  we  deem  our  loss. 

For  soon  with  all,  Life's  journey  will  be  o'er ; 

A)id  we  shall  tread  no  more  these  paths  so  dim ; 
Perhaps  'tis  best  before  we  reach  that  shore, 

To  onlv  know — that  we  shall  be  like  Him. 


18  SHIFTING    St'KNKS 


E  speeds  along  the  stony  street 
On  his  bicycle,  trim  and  neat ; 
My  pen  I  drop  with  joy  to  greet 
Our  little  Carl. 

How  true  he  sits !  how  well  he  guides 
Those  noiseless  wheels  !  how  swift  he  rides  ! 
Now  quickly  out  of  sight  he  glides — 
Our  neighbor  Carl. 

Though  lost  to  sight,  methinks  I  see 
Him  riding  onward  gracefully  ; 
So  bright,  so  fearless,  and  so  free — 
Our  hero  Carl. 

With  books  or  work  or  healthful  play, 
He  well  employs  each  passing  day  ; 
And  all  who  know  him  kindly  say, 
"  Our  noble  Carl." 

On  you  my  boy  and  such  as  you, 
Our  land  is  looking  to  renew 
Her  serried  ranks  of  patriots  true — 
Our  faithful  Carl. 

And  when  your  youth  is  nobly  spent, 
With  strong  firm  hands  may  you  be  sent 
To  turn  the  wheels  of  government — 
Our  manly  Carl. 


LIFE'S  POEMS  19 


ife' A    <poemx*> 

OME  lives  are  poems, 

In  which  we  find 
Words  of  true  wisdom 

For  heart  and  mind ; 

Gems  of  rare  beauty, 
Mines  of  rich  thought, 

Lessons  of  duty, 

Life's  problems  wrought; 

Full  of  devotion, 

Simple,  yet  grand, 
Free  as  the  ocean, 

Yet  firm  as  the  land. 

May  Life's  Poems  ever 
Be  so  pure  and  chaste, 

That  dying,  we'll  never 
Wish  one  line  erased. 


20 


SHIFTING  SCENES 


©ftiflren 


HOUGH  Age  may  leave  on  form  and  face, 
The  lasting  impress  of  his  hand, 

And  we  may  walk  with  faltering  pace, 
That  dim  and  shadowy  border  land, 

Oh  !  may  our  hearts  untouched  by  Time, 

Be  youthful  in  that  darker  clime. 

Though  centuries  to  cycles  grow, 
And  rivers  still  flow  to  the  main, 

When  we  have  passed  from  earth  we  know 
We  shall  not  tread  these  paths  again  ; 

Oh  !  then  while  here  may  our  hearts  be 

Like  those  of  childhood,  pure  and  free. 

If  we  would  teach  mankind  the  way 
That  leads  unto  a  higher  plane 

Of  duty  than  they  walk  to-day, 
Our  hearts  must  ever  young  remain  ; 

Life's  rarest  charms  cannot  atone 

For  pure  young  hearts   now  older  grown. 

But  wayworn,  weary  with  the  strife 

Where  maddening  passions  spurn  control, 

How  oft  the  cares  and  toils  of  life 
Will  harden  and  contract  the  soul  ; 

And  hearts  that  once  were  light  and  free, 

Lose  their  childlike  simplicity. 


ONLY    A    LETTER  21 

©nP^y  a  better 

NLY  a  letter — faded  and  torn — 

And  dim  and  yellow  with  age ; 
With  here  and  there  a  leaf  well  worn, 

That  holds  some  cherished  page. 

Only  a  letter — hut  it  reveals 

The  past  long  hid  from  view; 
And  I  think  to-night  of  a  youth  who  kneels 

His  promise  to  renew. 

And  I  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 

Her  bright  eyes  dimmed  with  tears ; 
And  her  heart  acquainted  with  grief  and  care, 

Is  swayed  by  its  hopes  and  fears. 

For  love  to  her  is  a  sacred  theme, 

Not  the  jest  of  a  passing  hour ; 
And  to  awaken  from  its  dream, 

Lies  not  within  her  power. 

It  gives  her  courage  to  endure ; 

It  speaks  in  her  every  tone ; 
And  fills  her  life  so  young  and  pure, 

With  a  beauty  all  its  own. 

And  what  of  him  ?     lie  says  his  heart 

Shall  ever  faithful  prove ; 
That  Death  itself  can  never  part 

Him  from  his  life — his  love. 


22 


SHIFTING    SCKNKS 

But,  oh !  he  thinks  to  still  be  free 

A  while  to  use  each  power  ; 
And  like  the  changeful,  wanton  bee, 

To  flit  from  flower  to  flower. 

For  in  dreams  he  had  seen  the  Ladder  of  Fame 
As  it  touched  on  the  glowing  ground ; 

And  his  soul  in  rapture  caught  the  flame 
Of  the  glory  that  shone  around. 

And  he  saw  the  angels  of  Song  descend 
From  their  home  by  the  crystal  sea ; 

And  heard  earth's  sweetest  music  blend 
With  their  heavenly  melody. 

And  he  awakened  to  impart 

His  lessons  of  Mystic  Lore, 
And  ope  new  fountains  in  the  heart, 

Unknown,  unfelt  before. 

All  Truth,  all  Beauty  touched  his  heart- 
Around,  beneath,  above — 

His  love  for  the  maid  was  but  a  part 
Of  a  Universal  Love. 


ONLY    A    LETTER 

And  Love  is  blind ;  but,  oh,  she  feels 

Despite  of  Love  and  tears — 
He  is  untrue ;  his  tone  reveals 

Too  plainly  what  she  fears. 

And  a  sharp  pang  like  a  poisoned  dart, 
Strikes  deep  her  womanly  pride ; 

And  she  strives  to  check  the  love  of  her  heart 
Though  it  swells  like  the  ebbing  tide. 


Only  a  letter — but  I  can  trace 
Its  lines  though  yellow  with  age  ; 

And  the  charm  of  a  life's  last  lingering  grace 
Is  seen  on  each  cherished  page. 

Ever  cherished  by  him,  although 

It  crushed  his  every  hope  ; 
And  left  him  stunned  beneath  the  blow, 

His  darkened  way  to  grope. 

He  knows  he  well  deserves  the  fate 

That  holds  them  thus  apart ; 
And  he  has  learned — but  learned  too  late — 

The  worth  of  a  woman's  heart. 


23 


24  SHIFTING    SCENES 


',  let  all  the  people  to 
The  house  of  God  repair ; 
Or  in  their  homes  with  reverence  due 
Lift  up  their  hearts  in  prayer. 

'  Thank  Him  to-day  for  rich  increase 

In  basket  and  in  store ; 
For  Hope  renewed;  for  smiling  Peace, 
That  comes  to  every  door." 

As  points  the  needle  to  the  pole, 

As  rivers  to  the  sea, 
So  on  this  day,  the  careworn  soul 

Will  turn  to  Heaven  and  Thee. 

Although  condemned  by  fate  these  years 

'Mid  distant  scenes  to  roam, 
When  this  day  came — in  joy  or  tears, — 

I  sought  my  dear  loved  home. 

A  father's  blessing  then  I  knew, 
A  mother's  love  and  prayers ; 

And  brothers,  sisters,  kind  and  true, 
Made  light  my  toils  and  cares. 


THANKSGIVING    DAY  25 

To-day  the  glad  bells  joyous  ring 

In  tones  so  clear  and  high — 
And  now  I  hear  the  choir  sing 

Within  the  church  near  by. 

"All  hail  the  power" — that  dear  old  song 

Swells  grandly  upward  there — 
"Of  Jesus'  name" — in  chorus  strong, 

Floats  out  upon  the  air. 

"Let  angels"— fainter  now  each  word, 

I  scarce  can  hear  them  all, 
Some  passing  breeze  the  air  has  stirred — 
"Let  angels  prostrate  fall." 

How  often  have  I  heard  that  hymn, 

In  other  days  gone  by, 
Within  a  church  now  old  and  dim, 

Near  where  our  loved  ones  lie. 

How  many  cherished  forms  I've  seen 

Pass  from  this  earth  away, 
Whose  memories  and  graves  are  green 

On  this  Thanksgiving  Day 

But  Him  I'll  praise,  though  tears  should  blind 

Me  as  I  speak  His  love; 
Those  gone  before  are  links  that  bind 

Me  to  that  Home  above. 


SHIFTING    SCENES 

And  here  I've  mused  upon  the  Past, 

So  far  away  and  dim, 
Until  I  listening  hear  at  last 

That  tender  closing  hymn. 

And  "God  be  with  you" — Oh !  how  sweet 

To  me  that  sad  refrain, 
As  they  in  measured  tones  repeat 

Now,  "Till  we  meet  again.'' 


He  is  our  Father  and  our  Friend, 
He'll  guide  us  all  the  way, 

Until  at  last  in  Heaven  we'll  spend 
One  grand  Thanksgiving  Day. 


|  N  yonder  bower, 
So  wild  and  free, 

There  blooms  a  flower, 
But  not  for  me. 

Its  fragrance  sweet 
Perfumes  the  air ; 

How  rich  a  treat 
To  enter  there ! 

And  oft  I  go 

This  flower  to  see ; 
But  well  I  know 

'Tis  not  for  me. 


BRASS    CUT    BRASS  27 


cuf 


RISING  poet,  not  long  ago 

Chanced  to  meet  with  a  poet  brother  ; 
Thejr  talked  of  their  poems  for  a  while, 
And  then  about  themselves  and  —  each  other. 

Said  one  :   "  My  poems  are  beautiful  ; 

'T  would  please  you  to  hear  me  quote  'em; 
But  I  can't  remember  'em  now  no  more 

Than  if  I  never  had  wrote  'em. 

"  I  see  the  poems  I  write  sometimes, 

And  I  really  do  not  know  'em  ; 
I  read  to-day  one  I  wrote  last  year, 
And  I  thought  it  was  Tennyson's  poem." 


Said  the  other  poet  so  young  and  fair ; 
:<I  write  not  for  praiae  nor  for  pelf,  sir ; 
But  Tennyson  saw  my  poem  last  week, 
And  declared  that  he  wrote  it  himself,  sir." 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


My  Reigftfior 

SEE  her  as  she  daily  goes 

Intent  upon  her  duty ; 
Not  seeking  to  be  known  by  those 

Renowned  for  wealth  or  beauty. 

So  kind  and  gentle  in  her  ways, 
So  plain  and  unassuming ; 

With  Heaven's  own  celestial  rays, 
Her  path  through  life  illuming. 

One  question  she  has  answered  me  ; 
"  Is  this  life  worth  the  living?  " 
'  Yes ;  if  for  every  blessing  we 
Some  fair  returns  are  giving. 

'It  is  not  Rank,  it  is  not  Place, 

That  makes  our  lives  respected ; 
The  highest  station  brings  disgrace 
When  Duty  is  neglected. 

'Trust  Him  unto  the  utmost,  through 

Each  dark  and  trying  hour ; 
But  still  know  we  must  ever  do 
What  lies  within  our  power." 


CHRISTMAS 

These  lessons,  fair  one,  learned  from  you. 

New  faith  and  hope  have  brought  me ; 
But  not  by  words,  but  actions  true, 

Their  cherished  truths  were  taught  me. 

When  Merit  only,  shall  he  Hank, 
And  Beauty — love  and  labor, 

For  such  a  blessing  I  will  thank 
Kind  Heaven — and  my  neighbor. 


29 


HRISTMAS comes!  "Peace  and  goodwill 

On  earth  to  all  mankind." 
Though  years  have  passed  that  message  still 

Revives  each  heart  and  mind. 

Blest  Day  !  What  joy  clusters  round 

Thy  name !  The  hours  we  knew 
Long  past  of  happiness  profound, 

Come  once  again  to  view. 

Now  round  our  hearthstone  we  shall  meet, 

And  friends  will  gather  there — 
Bright  cheering  words  our  hearts  shall  greet 

And  banish  pain  and  care, 


30  SHIFTING    SCENES 

And  though  without  the  wintry  blast 
Is  blowing  shrill  and  drear, 

Within  our  home,  no  clouds  o'ercast 
Our  Merry  Christmas  Cheer. 

While  happiness  shall  fill  each  breast 
In  this,  our  dear  loved  home, 

Oh !  may  our  love  go  out  in  quest 
Of  those  who  sadly  roam. 

But  there  are  many  friends  of  yore 
Still  held  by  us  most  dear, 

Who'll  never  greet  our  coming  more 
When  Christmas  shall  appear. 


Christmas  comes !  Now  open  wide 

The  portals  of  the  heart ; 
Forth  let  the  dove  of  Mercy  glide, 

Its  message  to  impart. 

And  while  of  Peace  the  angels  sing, 
May  Earth  catch  the  refrain ; 

Till  Hate  shall  lose  its  deadly  sting 
And  Charity  shall  reign. 

And  Faith  and  Hope,  her  sisters,  then 

Will  follow  at  her  call ; 
And  Christmas  need  not  come  again 

To  teach  us  love  for  all. 


THOUGHTS    ON    LIFE 


31 


on 


HUMBLE  lot  is  mine  to-day; 

A  lowly  path  I  daily  tread  ; 
And  yet  I  know  this  lowly  way 

To  higher  planes  of  life  has  led. 


A  noble  lesson  we  have  learned, 
When  we  can  curb  Ambition's  lust, 

And  rightly  prize  the  place,  we've  earned, 
Nor  seek,  nor  shun  a  higher  trust. 

And  what  though  Merit  often  fail 
And  yield  the  crown  to  Birth  or  Fate ! 

None  need  Misfortune's  lot  bewail; 

They  yet  shall  reign  who  patient,  wait. 


A  wild  bird  sang — none  heard  but  me  ; 

And  yet  its  song  was  full  as  sweet 
As  that  within  yon  maple  tree 

That  stands  beside  the  crowded  street. 

But  oft  we  keep  our  brightest  smile, 
And  kindliest  word,  and  fairest  song, 

That  would  some  trusting  heart  beguile, 
And  save  them  for  the  idle  throng. 


32  SHIFTING    SCENES 

A  kindly  greeting  we  refuse 
The  lowly  ones  we  daily  meet ; 

And  grasping  at  the  stars,  we  lose 
The  jewels  lying  near  our  feet. 

But  though  it  never  may  be  mine 
To  leave  behind  an  envied  name, 

Yet  still  I  trust,  I'll  ne'er  repine 
And  idly  sigh  for  Wealth  and  Fame. 


VIEW  once  more  that  sacred  spot 
Where  first  I  trod  in  Wisdom's  way ; 

The  place  where  learned  sages  taught 
The  children  of  a  bygone  day. 

I  thought  I  would  my  steps  retrace, 
And  one  more  look  upon  it  cast ; 

And  I  would  take  from  this  loved  place, 
Some  fond  memento  of  the  past. 

For  dearer  now  unto  my  heart 
The  relics  of  my  childhood's  days, 

Than  glimpse  of  clas-io  works  of  Art, 
Long  hidden  from  the  raptured  gaze. 


THE    OLD    SCHOOLHOUSE  33 

And  I  hud  thought  to  find  them  now, 

As  when  I  left  them  years  ago ; 
When  Hope  was  young,  and  on  my  brow, 

I  felt  the  flames  of  Ardor  glow. 

For  I  had  wandered  far  away , 

And  left  the  home  I  loved  so  well ; 
But  now  I  had  returned  to-day, 

And  hoped  by  this  loved  spot  to  dwell. 

But  Time  had  passed  ;  and  it  will  leave 

Its  marks  of  progress  on  us  all ; 
Its  strong  hand  will  the  mountains  cleave, 

And  by  its  touch  fair  temples  fall. 


Whilst  traveling  in  a  distant  land, 
Thoughts  of  the  past  come  o'er  our  mind ; 

Bright  visions  of  the  broken  band— 
The  happy  scenes  we've  left  behind. 

We  backward  cast  our  eyes  the  while  — 
And  through  the  intervening  years, 

And  many  a  long  and  weary  mile— 
The  oasis  of  home  appears. 

We  then  return  to  that  fair  land, 

No  more  from  childhood's  scenes  to  roam 
And  after  years  have  passed,  we  stand 
A  stranger  in  our  native  home. 


34  SHIFTING    SCKNKS 

No  more  we  see  a  father's  face ; 

Nor  mother's;  brothers,  sisters — all, 
Long  since  abandoned  that  dear  place 

And  left  but  a  deserted  hall. 

'T  was  thus  with  me.     I  thought  while  here 
Some  tokens  of  my  youth  to  find  ; 

But  they  have  vanished — year  by  year — 
Till  scare  a  trace  remains  behind. 

I  think  of  other  days  gone  by, 
As  I  stand  fondly  gazing  here, 

And  oft  I  check  the  rising  sigh  ; 

But  Memory  claims  and  takes— a  tear. 

Where  are  my  school-companions  gay 
That  formed  that  happy,  youthful  band? 

Some  long  since  passed  from  earth  away, 
And  some  are  in  a  distant  land, 

Far,  far  from  home  !  and  mountain  height, 
And  ocean  billows  come  between  ; 

No  more  their  smiling  faces  light, 
The  gloomy  sadness  of  this  scene. 

And  "  Caledonia,  stern  and  wild," 
Is  now  the  home  of  two  fair  maids, 

Whose  cheerful  presence  once  beguiled 
The  passing  hours,  in  these  dim  shades. 


THE    OLD    SCHOOMIOUSE  36 

Some  on  the  fair  Pacific  Slope, 
Now  dwell  with  Peace  and  Plenty  blest, 

And  base  their  earnest  Faith  and  Hope, 
Upon  the  great,  and  growing  West. 

Some  far  from  home  have  perished,  when 
They  saw  their  sky  with  clouds  o'ercast ; 

And  one  has  gone — and  come  again — 
To  muse  in  silence  o'er  the  Past. 


The  spreading  oak  with  branches  wide, 
That  cast  around  a  pleasant  shade — 

How  oft  have  I  stood  by  its  Hide ! 
How  often  in  its  shadow  played ! 

It,  too,  has  left  this  once  fair  scene  ! 

It  met  a  sad,  untimely  fate, 
Its  leaves  are  scattered  on  the  green, 

And  all  around  is  desolate  ! 

Oh !  this  act  will  man's  folly  crown  ! 

It  fell  beneath  the  tyrant's  sway ; 
And  vandals  tore  the  building  down, 

And  Time  was  cheated  of  his  prey. 

Where  schoolgirls'  songs  rang  through  the  wood, 
The  birds  now  sing  their  notes  instead; 

Wild  flowers  are  blooming  where  it  stood, 
And  all  its  former  joys  are  fled. 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


I  cross  again  the  little  brook, 

As  night's  dark  shades  succeed  the  day  ; 
I  turn  and  take  a  parting  look, 

And  then  in  sadness — walk  away. 


eKft 


er 


ACK  from  the  seaside  and  mountains, 
Back  from  the  health-giving  spring; 

From  the  deep-sounding  sea  and  bright  fountains, 
To  our  labor  new  life  we  will  bring. 

The  birds  and  the  brooklets  awaking 
Have  sung  of  thsir  tenderest  themes  ; 

And  first  on  our  rapt  senses  breaking 
Fair  visions  that  came  in  our  dreams. 

Seeking  the  while  for  the  pleasures 

Unburdened  Existence  can  yield, 
We  have  gathered  the  rarest  of  treasures 

From  many  an  oft  garnered  field. 

From  the  North  where  the  summer  belated 
Awhile  on  the  drear  landscape  smiles  ; 

From  the  South  where  the  breezes  are  freighted 
With  odors  from  tropical  isles  ; 


AFTER    VACATION  37 

From  the  East,  the  germ  of  the  Nation, 

With  its  glorious  deeds  of  the  Past ; 
From  the  West  with  its  civilization, 

The  grandest,  the  best,  and  the  last ; 

From  journeys  in  far  distant  nations, 

From  musings  'mid  Nature  and  Art, 
We  bring  to  our  daily  vocations 

A  larger  and  kindlier  heart. 

With  the  loss  of  that  narrow  contraction 
That  would  dwarf  and  disfigure  the  soul, 

And  feeling  we  are  but  a  fraction 
Of  a  great  and  harmonious  Whole. 


HERE  once  the  woodland  far  extended  spread, 
And  the  wild  deer  her  fawns  unfearing  led ; 

Where  strange  bright  flowers  in  wild  profusion  grew, 
And  o'er  the  scene  a  veil  of  beauty  threw ; 

Where  once  the  squirrel  with  the  leaflet  played 
And  the  shy  rabbit  sported  in  the  shade ; 

Where  Nature  once  held  undisputed  sway, 
The  works  of  man — fair  homes— arise  to-day. 


38  SHIFTING    SCENKS 

Before  the  sturdy  ax  the  forest  fell ; 
The  deer  affrighted  left  its  native  dell ; 

The  flowers  faded  'neath  the  sun's  bright  glow, 
Or  lingered  only  by  the  streamlet's  flow; 

The  tree  that  held  the  squirrel's  nest  of  leaves 
To-day  supports  the  wide  protecting  eaves ; 

Where  the  Red  Hunter  sought  the  cooling  spring, 
We  now  may  hear  the  anvil's  daily  ring; 

The  little  brook  that  flowed  adown  the  hill, 
Turns  the  great  wheels  of  yonder  busy  mill ; 

The  hum  of  voices  and  the  tread  of  feet 
Are  heard  each  day  along  its  shaded  street. 

And  though  our  village  is  so  far  remote 
From  crowded  cities  or  from  towns  of  note, 

Yet  still  our  "leading  men"  are  all  intent 
On  keeping  pace  with  every  great  event. 


From  far  around  to  hear  the  latest  news, 

The  sturdy  farmers  come,  and  give  their  views, 

In  language  more  stentorian  than  ornate, 
On  questions  of  vast  import  to  the  State, 

And  ever  and  anon  a  contest  hold 

With  varied  specimens  from  field  and  fold ; 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGE  39 

And  those  who  once  did  conquer  or  did  yield 
In  other  days  on  many  a  hard  fought  field, 

Now  with  a  rivalry  far  nobler,  vie 

In  peaceful  products  of  our  sunny  sky. 


I  look  around  me,  thankful  that  to-day, 

O'er  all  our  land,  Peace  holds  her  gentle  sway; 

For  War's  grim  memories  now  no  more  we  hoard; 
To  ploughshares  we  have  changed  the  rusting  sword, 

To  tuneful  anvils,  balls  that  fiercely  met ; 
To  reaper's  blades,  the  vengeful  bayonet ; 

And  with  renewed  devotion  now  we  claim 
One  flag,  one  country,  and  one  common  aim. 

Now  once  again  the  Pen  resumes  its  sway, 
And  solves  the  problems  of  the  passing  day. 

May  it  no  more  by  Sordid  Gain  debased, 
Here  pander  to  an  oft  perverted  taste  ; 

Nor  yield  supine  to  Concentrated  Power, 
The  living,  vital  issues  of  the  Hour ; 

But  toiling  for  a  brighter,  better  day, 
Point  up  to  higher  realms  and  lead  the  way. 


SHIFTING    SCENKS 

When  Summer  smiling,  sheds  her  glories  'round, 
And  dale  and  hilltop  are  with  verdure  crowned, 

Upon  our  streets  the  village  band  appears, 
And  strains  of  martial  music  greet  our  ears ; 

While  lovely  maids,  fair  as  a  Morn  in  May, 
Add  beauty  to  the  scene  and  throng  the  way ; 

And  when  the  shades  of  Night  have  gathered  round, 
And  wrapt  the  land  in  darkness  all  profound, 

From  vine-sequestered  cot,  or  mansion  white, 
Borne  on  soft  breezes  through  the  stilly  night, 

Comes  music  sweet  from  some  light-toned  guitar, 
Touched  by  as  dark-eyed  damsels  as  afar 

In  Spain's  provincial  towns,  the  traveler  sees, 
Beneath  the  groves  of  fragrant  orange  trees; 

As  noon  and  evening  make  their  daily  round, 
Along  the  streets  is  heard  the  merry  sound 

Of  happy  children  just  released  from  school, 
No  longer  anxious  to  observe  "the  rule." 

The  teacher,  firm  but  gentle,  walks  behind, 
With  mind  well  stored  with  lore  of  various  kind — 

Skilled  in  each  art  to  guide  the  wayward  youth, 
Along  the  path  of  Learning  and  of  Truth  ; 


MY   NATIVE    VILLAGE 


But  wearied  with  the  cares  that  come  to^  those 
In  whom  the  welfare  of  young  hearts  repose, 

He  seeks  his  room  to  gain  relief  from  toil, 

Then  takes  his  hooks  and  "burns  the  midnight  oil;" 

And  oft  he  dreams  of  a  bright  future,  when 
Instead  of  children,  he  shall  govern  men. 

When  in  obedience  to  his  country's  calls 
His  voice  is  heard  in  Legislative  Halls. 


Behold  where  yonder  lofty  spires  arise, 

Like  Faith  still  pointing  upward  to  the  skies  ! 

And  teaching  man  to  look  not  always  down 
On  earthly  scenes,  but  upward  to  a  crown, 

Reserved  for  all  who  do,  as  best  they  can, 
The  duties  that  they  owe  to  God  and  man. 


The  Sabbath  dawns :  throughout  these  quiet  vales, 
The  songs  of  birds  are  borne  upon  the  gales  ; 

Bright  blooming  flowers,  the  gently  waving  trees, 
The  low  of  distant  herds,  the  hum  of  bees, 

The  tinkling  bell  upon  the  village  green, 
The  shimmering  waters  in  the  distance  seen — 


42  SHIFTING  .SCENES 

Sights  that  we  love  to  see  and  sounds  to  hear, 
Now  greet  the  eye  and  fall  upon  the  ear. 

There  low,  dark  belts  of  woodland  fringe  the  west, 
Where  squirrels  fearless  sport  around  their  nest; 

And  on  the  south,  broad  pastures  stretch  away, 
Where  graze  the  flocks  through  the  long  summer  day ; 

While  on  the  north  the  rock-ribbed  hills  arise, 
Whose  summits  glisten  'neath  the  glowing  skies. 

Far  to  the  east,  as  far  as  eye  can  see, 

Reach  fertile  prairies ;  where  once  wild  and  free 

The  antlered  deer  o'er  it  were  wont  to  roam, 

Now  ruled  by  man— earth's  storehouse  and  his  home. 

On  every  side  fair  works  of  art  we  meet, 
While  nature's  jewels  lie  about  our  feet ; 

While  overhead  the  dome  of  azure  blue, 
Now  slowly  changes  to  a  deeper  hue. 


As  high  and  higher  mounts  the  King  of  Day, 
I  see  the  gathering  people  wend  their  way 

Unto  the  church,  nor  wait  until  the  hour 

The  bell  shall  call  them,  ringing  from  the  tower. 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGK  43 

And  saints,  grown  old  in  service,  come,  nor  fear 
The  idler's  jesting,  nor  the  scoffer's  sneer. 

Blest  spirits  !     When  at  last  yon  hear  the  call 
To  leave  these  scenes,  oh  !  may  your  mantles  fall, 

As  you  ascend  in  chariots  of  flame, 

On  sons  and  daughters  worthy  of  your  name. 

And  brightly  smiling  maidens  here  are  seen, 
Like  flowers  blooming  withered  boughs  between  ; 

And  matrons  pale,  whose  sable  robes  betray 
The  shadows  resting  on  their  homes  to-day. 


And  there  he  stands  who  leads,  and  long  has  led 
His  people  in  the  paths  their  feet  should  tread ; 

And  seeking  for  their  hearts  surcease  from  strife, 
Breaks  for  their  hungry  souls  the  Bread  of  Life. 

But  since  an  abler  mind  in  other  days, 

In  gentler,  sweeter  strains  has  sung  thy  praise, 

I  should  not  try,  a  bard  of  weaker  mold, 
To  tell  again  what  has  so  well  been  told. 

Yet  will  these  precious  memories  round  me  throng 
And  swell  the  feeble  measure  of  my  song. 


44  SHIFTING    SCENES 

I  see  him  now,  a  man  of  gracious  mien, 
'Mid  every  trial,  peaceful  and  serene  ; 

As  is  some  mighty  current,  deep  and  wide, 
That  calmly  flows  through  Ocean's  swelling  tide  ; 

And  though  the  darkened  waves  may  sweep  around, 
Keeps  ever  on  its  way  in  peace  profound : 

He  moves  amid  his  flock  with  gentle  pace, 

And  looks  with  kindness  in  each  well-known  face ; 

Cheers  the  sad  heart  crashed  by  Affliction's  rod, 
And  leads  the  wanderer  back  to  Heaven  and  God. 


Well  I  remember  as  these  lines  I  write, 
When  first  my  fancy  took  its  wayward  flight ; 

When  first  I  ventured  feebly  to  address 
The  people  through  the  medium  of  the  press. 

I  fondly  thought— a  childish  thought  I  know, 
I  have  outlived  such  visions  long  ago — 

The  world  was  waiting  eager  for  my  song, 
And  deemed  its  music  was  delayed  too  long. 

How  grand  it  looked  in  print !     How  well  it  read  ! 
And  thoughts  of  Fame  and  Fortune  filled  my  head. 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGK  45 

I  did  not  know,  as  I  have  known  gince  then, 
The  cold  and  heartless  apathy  of  men; 

That  of  the  throng  that  plume  for  lofty  nights, 
But  few  shall  ever  reach  those  di/zy  heights ; 

That  royal  natures  that  deserve  a  throne, 
Oft  go  through  life  unnoticed  and  unknown. 

Perhaps  'tis  best ;  the  sweetest  flowers  grow 
Not  on  the  mountains,  but  in  vales  below ; 

They  bloom  in  beauty  in  each  lowly  bed, 
Nor  feel  the  storms  that  sweep  far  over  head; 

And  though  oft  crushed  by  man,  their  fragrance  rare, 
More  richly  rises  to  perfume  the  air. 


Within  these  realms  could  we  expect  to  find 

That  subtle  power  which  sways  the  heart  and  mind. 

And  wakes  the  soul  that  sleeps  in  fatal  ease 
To  grand  and  noble  deeds  ?    Of  such  as  these 

The  scholar  reads  in  legendary  lays 
That  tell  of  elder  and  of  better  days  ; 

In  records  dim  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome, 
Nor  thinks  to  find  true  eloquence  at  home; 


46  SHIFTING    SCENES 

The  flowers  to-day  are  just  as  bright  and  fair 
As  those  of  other  times;  the  New  World's  air 

Wafts  on  its  every  breeze  perfumes  as  sweet, 
•As  varied  and  as  prized  as  ever  greet 

The  tastes  refined  of  those  who  dwell  at  ease 
Beside  the  Tigris  and  the  Euphrates. 

And  why  should  Eloquence,  sublimest  art, 
In  this  our  day  and  clime,  fail  to  impart 

Its  lessons  true?    Why  should  there  be  denied 
These  quiet  scenes,  man's  highest,  noblest  pride  ? 

No !     Eloquence  shall  live  throughout  all  time 
TJncircumscribed  by  age,  or  race,  or  clime. 

And  it  is  here ;  we've  listened  to  its  voice; 
Its  power  divine  has  made  us  oft  rejoice; 

It  touched  our  conscience  like  a  fiery  dart, 

And  waked  each  smoldering  passion  of  the  heart. 

I  could  not — would  not — blot  from  memory's  page, 
His  thoughts  so  worthy  of  a  better  age. 

Nor  soon  forget  that  grand  and  noble  face, 
That  manly  form  and  mori  than  manly  grace; 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGE 

The  raptured  throng  each  deep  emotion  stirred, 
Hang  tremulous  upon  his  every  word, 

Forgetting  as  those  magic  tones  they  hear, 
The  one  dark  shadow  of  his  bright  career. 


Though  dear  be  Music,  Eloquence,  and  Art, 
Their  power  combined  can  never  move  the  heart, 

And  keep  its  life  blood  flowing  free  and  warm, 
Like  kindly  deeds  that  patient  hands  perform  ; 

And  these  the  skilled  physician,  tried  and  true, 
Though  often  baffled,  fails  not  to  renew  ; 

Bends  with  compassion  o'er  the  sufferer's  bed 
Till  the  last  flickering  ray  of  life  has  fled. 

I  see  him  toiling  on,  from  day  to  day, 
Through  sun  and  storm  on  his  unwearied  way ; 

For  eager,  anxious  hearts  his  coming  wait, 
In  humble  cot,  or  mansion  of  the  great, 

Where  trembles  now,  the  quivering,  fleeting  breath, 
In  the  poised  balance  betwixt  life  and  death. 


48 


SHIFTING    SCENES 

He  comes !     Ah !  well  they  know  that  measured  pace; 
And  with  what  tearful  eyes  they  scan  his  face, 

Long  furrowed  o'er  with  lines  of  wasting  care, 
If  by  perchance  his  thoughts  are  written  there ; 

And  hope  against  all  hope,  his  presence  near, 
May  turn  aside  the  Shadow,  all  men  fear. 

Our  lovely  village  owes  thee,  friend,  to-day, 
A  debt  of  gratitude  we  cannot  pay ; 

My  feeble  pen  but  feebly  has  expressed, 

JIow  much  thy  kindly  deeds  and  words  have  blessed 

Our  hearts  and  homes ;  but  yet  despite  the  power 
Of  the  warm  sunshine,  every  blooming  flower 

Must  fade  away  too  soon  before  our  sight, 
Cut  down  by  hoary  frost  or  withering  blight ; 

The  floods  of  springtime  may  be  safely  passed, 
The  summer's  scorching  heat,  the  autumn's  blast 

We  may  survive  ;  but  yet  dread  winter  will 
The  feeble  current  of  our  being  chill. 

Too  well  we  know  man's  power  cannot  save 
Our  loved  ones  ever  from  the  silent  grave. 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGE  49 

I  should  not  mention  these  and  fail  to  speak 
Of  those  in  humbler  spheres,  who  daily  seek 

By  honest,  faithful  labor,  to  provide 

A  cheerful  home,  where  by  their  own  fireside 

May  gather  when  their  daily  tasks  are  o'er, 
And  drifting  snows  are  piled  against  the  door, 

And  wintry  winds  are  blowing  shrill  and  cold, 
Each  dear,  loved  member  of  their  own  household; 

Upon  the  hearth  how  ruddy  glows  the  fire 
When  near  it  gather  children,  mother,  sire ! 

The  warring  elements  may  close  it  round ; 

Within  that  home — Love,  Hope,  and  Peace  are  found. 


Of  voice  well  modulated,  justly  proud, 
One  of  its  members  deigns  to  read  aloud 

The  village  paper  with  its  weekly  news; 

Its  lovelorn  verses  from  some  unfledged  muse  ; 

Its  correspondents  with  a  Latin  name — 
Young  seekers  after  literary  fame  ; 

Of  how  a  noted  wedding  had  occurred 

Within  "our  town,"  of  which  they  long  had  heard; 


50 


SHIFTING    SCENES 

Of  how  the  bridegroom  looked  so  "very  grand, 
4  'And  is  quite  wealthy  so  we  understand ;" 

Of  how  the  bride  a  loving  wife  will  make  ; 
And  how  the  editor  received  some  cake  ; 

Of  murders,  suicides, — a  record  dire, — 
Of  loss  of  worldly  goods  hy  flood  or  fire  ; 

Of  latest  news  across  the  ocean  far 
Predicting  soon  a  European  war. 


Thanks  to  the  Press !     No  more  to  us  denied 
The  busy  doings  of  the  world  outside ; 

Though  never  from  our  fireside  we  may  stray 
In  foreign  lands  to  trace  our  weary  way, 

For  us  the  wires  encircling  every  zone, 

Soon  make  the  deeds  of  distant  nations  known. 

At  last  when  laid  aside  the  well-conned  page, 
Some  simple  games  the  youthful  mind  engage ; 

More  loved  and  lovely  now  than  when  a  bride, 
From  her  light  task  the  mother  turns  aside ; 

And  on  her  face  a  sweet  and  tender  smile 
Dispels  the  gloom  that  shadowed  it  the  while, 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGE  51 

As  she  looks  round  with  pride  and  pleasure  there 
On  the  rich  treasures  trusted  to  her  care ; 

And  feels  her  toils  grow  lighter  day  by  day, 
When  borne  for  those  who  honor  and  obey. 

Such  homes  as  these  preserve  our  Nation  still 
From  all  the  gathering  storms  of  direst  ill ; 

Their  memory  lives  throughout  our  after  lives 
And  all  the  wreck  of  fondest  hopes  survives  ; 

Such  homes  produced — with  pride  each  true  heart  learns, 
In  England,  Wordsworth,  and  in  Scotland,  Burns; 

And  in  the  New  World,  plain,  sincere  and  grand, 
The  Lincoln  and  the  Stephens  of  our  land. 

Perhaps  within  that  circle  thus  obscure, 

Is  one  whose  thoughts  for  ages  shall  endure, 

In  manly  prose  or  words  of  glowing  rhyme, 
The  carps  of  critics  and  the  tests  of  time. 

Oft  have  I  wandered  by  yon  winding  stream 
And  watched  the  softened  rays  of  sunlight  gleam 

Through  overhanging  boughs,  that  turned  aside 
The  fiercer  currents  of  its  golden  tide ; 


SHIFTING    SCENES 

And  sitting  there  upon  a  mossy  bank 
'  Neath  a  majestic  oak  that  deeply  drank 

The  placid  waters,  I  would  watch  for  hours, 
The  many  plumaged  birds,  the  forest  flowers, 

The  strange  fantastic  forms  of  shrub  and  tree, 
Until  some  fairy  scene  it  seemed  to  me, 

Where  magic  wands,  moved  by  some  master  hand, 
Created  cities  fair  and  castles  grand, 

And  peopled  them  with  dwarfs  and  giants  grim, 
That  passed  before  me  in  the  shadows  dim. 

And  here  I  come  again  before  I  go, 

To  muse  alone,  and  watch  the  steady  flow 

Of  these  dark  waters,  that  through  every  day, 
Are  nearing  the  great  ocean,  far  away; 

And  musing  thus,  I  think  upon  the  time, 

When  thoughts  of  mine  that  flow  in  simple  rhyme, 

Shall  with  a  deeper  meaning  far  be  fraught, 
And  mingle  in  the  sea  of  human  thought. 


And  there  upon  the  rippling  waves  afloat 
Before  me  passes  now  a  tiny  boat ; 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGE  53 

And  on  its  side  I  see  the  name  of  one 
I  knew,  ere  yet  her  maiden-life  begun  : 

Known  and  beloved  o'er  all  the  country  side, 
A  mother's  treasure  and  a  father's  pride; 

But  once  as  flowers  fair  adorned  the  dale, 
Across  the  river  came  the  boatman  pale; 

And  in  the  close  of  that  long  summer  day, 
From  home  and  friends  he  beckoned  her  away ; 

She  saw  his  bark  approach  the  mist-wreathed  shore, 
And  heard  the  dipping  of  his  muffled  oar; 

She  caught  a  gleaming  of  the  shadowy  sail 
That  slowly  stayed  before  the  phantom  gale  ; 

Then  with  a  look  that  ever  seemed  to  say, 
'Farewell,  dear  friends:  in  realms  of  perfect  day 

I'll  meet  you  soon,"  she  vanished  from  our  sight, 
And  all  our  sunshine  changed  to  deepest  night ; 

Her  voice  has  died  from  stairway  and  from  hall; 
Her  form  has  passed  beyond  our  fond  recall ; 

But  what  she  was  to  us,  and  might  have  been, 
Are  sad,  sweet  memories,  no  fair  gift  may  win ; 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


And  as  to-day  I  look  upon  her  name, 
Her  memory  will  a  passing  tribute  claim. 


Fair  as  thy  past  has  been  yet  still  I  see, 
A  brighter,  grander  future  yet  for  thee  ; 

When  shall  be  heard  the  iron  horse  afar, 
Approaching  with  the  heavy  laden  car ; 

And  his  loud  neighing  wafted  on  the  gales, 
Shall  wake  the  echoes  of  thy  quiet  vales ; 

When  temples  reared  to  Science  and  to  Art 
Upon  these  hills,  their  classic  Lore  impart; 

Till  from  their  halls,  some  hand  reserved  by  fate, 
Though  darkened  waves  shall  guide  the  Ship  of  State; 

When  men  shall  come  from  distant  realms  each  year, 
And  seek  new  homes,  and  seeking — find  them  here ; 

When  honest  freemen  shall  around  thee  draw 
The  safeguards  of  a  higher,  better  law. 

Prosperity  has  richly  blessed  thy  past, 

And  but  few  shadows  have  been  o'er  thee  cast ; 

From  War  and  Pestilence  thou  hast  been  free, 
While  some  were  wrapt  in  grief ;  on  thee 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGE  55 

Nor  flood  nor  fire  fiend  yet  have  left  their  trace, 
Nor  sudden  tempest  marred  thy  lovely  face  ; 

But  Peace  and  Plenty  smiled  each  passing  year 
And  filled  thy  homes  with  love  and  cheer  ; 

Thy  people,  toiling  on  their  fertile  lands, 
Have  reaped  the  honest  labor  of  their  hands, 

Nor  feared  the  profits  from  each  small  estate, 
Must  go  to  swell  the  coffers  of  the  great. 

Thou  hast  thy  evils  too  ;  though  far  away 

From  scenes  where  Vice  holds  undisputed  sway, — 

And  greedy  Avarice  ever  lies  in  wait 

To  pluck  the  weak  that  come  within  her  gate, 

And  willing  victims  follow  in  the  train 

Of  foolish  Fashion  and  applaud  her  reign — 

All  is  not  perfect  here  ;  nor  shall  we  find 
From  Folly  free,  the  wisest  of  mankind. 

The  village  apes  the  town  ;  too  oft  we  see 
They  differ  not  in  kind,  but  in  degree. 


With  all  thy  faults,  and  they  are  many,  yet 
I  leave  thee  with  a  deep  unfeigned  regret ; 


56  SHIFTING    SCENES 

And  scarcely  hoping  I  shall  ever  find 

In  all  my  travels,  friends  as  true  and  kind, 

As  tried  and  faithful  through  each  passing  year, 
As  in  the  past  I've  known  and  trusted  here  ; 

Who  wished  me  well,  and  gave  me  timely  aid 
And  for  my  welfare  worked  as  well  as  prayed ; 

Looked  with  compassion  on  my  wayward  ways, 
And  gave  for  earnest  effort,  earnestpraise ; 

Nor  deemed  as  wholly  idle  or  as  vain, 
The  wild  and  weird  vagaries  of  my  brain  ; 

For  strange  poetic  visions  on  me  wrought, 
And  made  me  oft  to  be  what  I  would  not — 

A  child  of  Fancy  striving  to  express 

To  other  thoughts  I  hardly  dared  confess ; 

Thoughts  uncongenial  to  the  din  and  rush 
Of  busy  Trade  ;  more  suited  to  the  hush 

And  quiet  of  some  calm  sequestered  vale, 
Where  Commerce  spreads  not  to  the  passing  gale 

Her  broad  white  wings ;  nor  passing  interests  clash 
Nor  glittering  gewgaws  in  the  sunlight  flash ; 


MY   NATIVE    VILLAGE  57 

But  where  the  gentle  and  refreshing  breeze 
Sweet  music  wafts  through  blossom-laden  trees ; 

Where  morning  fair  reveals  to  eye  and  ear, 
Views  that  delight  and  sounds  we  love  to  hear ; 

Where  all  the  passing  day  a  varied  scene 

Of  broad  fair  field  and  woodlands  dark  between, 

Breaks  ever  on  the  glad  enraptured  view, 
Each  day  unchanged,  and  yet  forever  new ; 

With  friendly  call  from  neighbor  o'er  the  way, 
Who  stops  in  passing  but  consents  to  stay 
And  talk  upon  the  topics  of  the  day ; 

Till  evening  comes  at  length,  and  calm  repose 
Brings  each  days  scenes  and  labors  to  a  close ; 

Nor  feverish  dreams  of  Fame  nor  unjust  Gain 
Impede  the  flights  of  the  fantastic  brain 

Into  Elysian  worlds  of  joy  and  bliss, 
Beyond  the  sordid  toils  and  cares  of  this  : 


Thus  had  I  hoped  to  live,  and  thus  to  spend 
The  passing  years,  till  time  for  me  should  end, 


58  SHIFTING    SCENES 

And  Angel  hands  should  beckon  me  away 
From  earthly  scenes  to  realms  of  perfect  day. 

It  cannot  be ;  but  it  may  be  the  best 

That  we  should  labor  when  we  fain  would  rest ; 

That  still  the  barriers  firm  must  ever  stay 
That  rise  in  silence  round  our  narrow  way ; 

That  it  lies  not  witnin  our  humble  sphere 

To  choose  the  paths  that  we  would  treai  while  here ; 

For  some  that  but  in  peaceful  ways  delight 
Must  wield  the  sword,  the  foremost  in  the  fight ; 

And  men  whose  hearts  love  but  the  quiet  shore, 
Guide  storm-tos«ed  vessels  'mid  the  ocean's  roar; 

And  many  follow,  who  were  born  to  lead. 
Deferred  and  scanty  praise  their  only  meed. 

And  we  are  not  what  we  would  be  ;  each  day 
There  is  a  guiding  power  we  must  obey, 

That  leads  us  into  paths  we  would  not  choose,      [bruise 
Where  rude  thorns  pierce  us,  and  where  rough  stones 

Our  weary  feet;  but  still  though  tempests  frown, 
Our  hopes  are  not  destroyed  though  oft  cast  down  ; 


MY   NATIVE    VILLAGK  59 

At  last  we  feel  as  we  securely  stand, 

It  was  a  loving  though  a  chastening  hand. 


Now  to  the  Sunset  State  I  wend  my  way, 
Amid  its  wonders  for  a  while  to  stray ; 

To  stand  upon  the  mountain's  rugged  side 
And  look  upon  the  fertile  valleys  wide ; 

To  view  the  greatness  of  the  Farther  West, 
Its  arts  and  customs,  and  that  wild  unrest 

That  ruled  so  fiercely  in  the  Days  of  Gold, 
Nor  even  yet  has  quite  released  its  hold. 


There  shall  I  meet  again  in  that  fair  land 
With  members  of  a  once  united  hand, 

Now  widely  sundered ;  but  who  still  retain 
Amid  these  latter  days  of  Greed  and  Gain, 

A  deep  abiding  love  for  that  dear  place 
Where  first  they  looked  into  a  mother's  face ; 

And  where  their  youth  and  mine  were  richly  blessed 
By  a  devoted  father,  gone  to  rest ; 

Whose  life  below  was  simple  yet  sincere  ; 
Whose  kindly  deeds  illumed  his  humble  sphere ; 


60  SHIFTING    SCENES 

We  learned  too  late  to  prize  him  ;  but  we  know 
He  loved  us;  and  that  cheering  thought  shall  go 

With  us  through  life ;  but  oh  !  the  pure  and  good 
While  with  us,  are  too  little  understood  ; 

Too  late  we  grieve  when  they  are  called  away 
O'er  unkind  words  and  deeds;  but  yet  we  may 

In  future  strive  with  constant  heart  and  mind 
To  prize  still  more  the  dear  ones  left  behind ; 

And  when  I  come — if  I  should  come  again — 
Kelieved  by  milder  climes  from  lingering  pain, 

I  hope  to  smooth  the  last  declining  years 
Of  her  who  ever  shared  my  hopes  and  fears. 


Though  dark  or  hopeful  be  my  future,  yet, 
Friends  of  my  youth,  1  shall  not  soon  forget 

Your  welcome  cheers  whenever  I  prevailed, 
Your  tender  words  of  comfort  when  I  failed; 

And  though  'mid  distant  scenes  my  footsteps  stray, 
Fair  village,  still  throughout  each  passing  day, 

My  heart  shall  turn  wherever  I  may  roam, 
To  thee  my  earliest  and  my  dearejst  home. 


MY    NATIVE    VILLAGE  61 

Oh  !  may  thy  sky  be  ever  bright  and  clear, 

And  may  thy  course  be  onward  through  each  year; 

May  Education  guide  tliee,  by  her  light, 
And  keep  thee  in  the  path  of  Truth  and  Kight; 

Oh  !  may  no  Goldsmith  at  some  future  day 
Muse  o'er  thy  fall  and  write  thy  sad  decay; 

But  evermore  still  be  our  joy  and  pride, 
And  shed  thy  many  blessings  far  and  wide. 


tfie 


HOLD  it  tame  to  glide  across 
In  this  fair  palace  these  vast  plains  ; 

For  greater  speed  is  greater  loss, 
Arid  beauty  less  with  lesser  pains. 

No  more  the  rude  wigwam  is  nigh  ; 

No  more  the  dark  and  rolling  seas 
Of  buffaloes  come  sweeping  by; 

Less  royal  sights  our  eyes  must  please. 


62  SHIFTING  SCENES 

No  more  the  camp-fires  briskly  burn, 
Nor  trusty  heaits  stand  sentinel, 

And  through  the  night  with  deep  concern, 
Guard  sleeping  comrades,  long  and  well. 

But  now  each  step  is  blazoned  o'er 
With  man's  inventive  daring  skill ; 

His  cities  greet  us  evermore, 
His  cattle  graze  on  every  hill. 

Far  to  the  East  the  King  of  Day 

Is  rising ;  he  has  risen  long 
On  scenes  I  leave  so  far  away, 

I  deem  it  but  an  idle  song. 

And  thus  each  year  the  currents  sweep  ; 

And  so  our  course  of  being  runs, 
If  we  should  wake  or  we  should  sleep, 

From  rising  unto  setting  suns. 


I  feel  like  one  who  sits  and  sees 
In  some  theater,  far  away, 

Fair  pictures ;  and  I  know  that  these 
Are  preludes  to  the  coming  play. 


THE  MAIDEN'S  GRAVE  63 


SJrcwe 


jWkiM/u  in  the  dim  and  distant  past 
*v^y     You  turned  your  face  unto  the  West ; 

And  stopping  here  awhile  to  rest, 
Found  this  repose  to  be  your  last. 

Awhile  your  sorrowing  friends  delayed, 
Then  left  you  here  to  sleep  alone, 
With  but  a  rude  unsculptured  stone 

Above  your  sleeping  form,  fair  maid. 

But  now  a  fitting  monument 
Reared  by  true  hearts  that  knew  you  not, 
Marks  this  sad,  dreary,  lonely  spot 

Where  your  last  hours  on  earth  were  spent. 

Fair  daughter  of  my  own  fair  State ! 

Oh !  peaceful  may  your  slumbers  be ; 

Your  eyes  were  closed  ere  they  should  see 
That  land  for  which  I  watch  and  wait. 

And  I,  too,  may  not  reach  that  shore 
Where  rivers  run  through  sands  of  gold; 
But  from  some  mount,  like  one  of  Old, 

I  may  but  "view  the  landscape  o'er." 


64  SHIFTING    SCENES 

If  such  my  fate  should  chance  to  be, 
Though  friends  may  shed  a  few,  brief  tears, 
I  could  not  hope  in  after  years 

The  passing  throng  would  honor  me. 

But  not  to  you,  my  heart  suspects, 
Alone  was  reared  this  monument ; 
Man  in  this  tribute  here  has  blent 

Respect  and  love  for  all  your  sex. 

And  as  I  leave  you  all  alone, 
Beside  the  one  to  friends  so  dear, 
Another  monument  I  rear 

To  other  hearts  than  I  have  known. 


CROSSING    THE    MOUNTAINS 


65 


high  and  higher  we  ascend 

This  grand  and  lofty  mountain  range, 
Whose  snowy  peaks  in  darkness  blend 

With  hovering  clouds.     How  vast  the  change  ! 
The  hills  and  dales  and  woodlands  green, 

And  fertile  prairies  dotted  o'er 
With  thriving  towns — a  varied  scene 

That  passed  our  charmed  gaze  before— 
We  leave  behind,  and  sterner  sights 

Now  take  the  place  of  visions  fair. 
We  upward  look  to  higher  heights, 

And  see  the  eagle  soaring  there, 
Calm  and  serene,  as  if  his  flights 

Where  native  to  these  realms  where  man 
Feels  deep  oppression,  and  he  fears 

Though  bearing  up  as  best  he  can 
He  leaves  too  far  his  native  spheres. 

And  yet  man  ever  feels  a  pride 
That  he  has  chanced  to  stand  upon — 

A  feat  that  some  in  vain  have  tried — 
The  topmost  summit  of  Mount  Blanc. 


66  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Around  him  whirls  the  blinding  enow, 
That  ever  threatens  him  with  death, 

And  weary  travelers  far  helow, 
Look  up  with  envy,  while  their  breath 

Can  scarce  avail  them  now  to  stand 
Upon  the  rugged  mountain  side. 

Yet  will  they  sigh  for  regions  grand, 
To  them  forevermore  denied. 


Far  rather  would  I  stay  below 
In  lovely  vales,  with  trees  and  flowers, 

Than  stand  on  mountain  heights  and  know 
That  for  a  few  brief  fleeting  hours, 

The  throng  beneath  were  envying  me — 
And  some  were  looking  up  with  hate 

And  longings  vain,  and  few  there  be 
Would  wish  for  me  a  happy  fate. 

Nor  to  the  dizzy  heights  of  Fame 
Would  I  ascend ;  but  rather  stay 

Below  forever,  though  my  name 
Should  with  my  spirit  pass  away. 


THE    PACIFIC 


67 


e  (pacific 


from  my  humble  home  beside  the  broad, 
Majestic  inland  river  of  our  land, 
At  TOSS  the  arid  wastes  of  deserts  drear, 
And  over  lofty  mountains  shutting  out 
Bright  views  of  El  Dorado,  I  had  come, 
Till  now  I  stand  in  solemn  awe  beside 
The  waters  of  this  mighty  Sea  that  marks 
The  western  confines  of  a  continent. 


I  see  the  white  winged  birds  of  commerce  now, 
Swift  sailing  out  to  other  shores  than  ours; 
And  in  the  distance,  braving  every  wind 
That  fans  the  seas,  is  our  fair  country's  flag ; 
Still  may  it  float,  though  tempest  rudely  blow, 
And  foam-capped  billows  threaten  to  engulf 
Its  starry  folds— the  last  to  greet  our  views 
When  we  shall  turn  our  steps  to  foreign  realms, 
The  first  to  welcome  us  when  we  return. 
The  waves  come  sweeping  in  upon  the  shore 
And  break  in  clouds  of  spray  about  my  feet ; 
And  as  they  backward  glide  the  children  come 
And  gather  up  the  shells  of  varied  hues, 

Borne  landward  on  the  bosom  of  the  tide.     y^\^  x< 

v 


68 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


It  plays  before  me  now  with  tender  grace 

As  though  it  never  cast  upon  the  shore   ' 

The  wreck  of  an  Armada. 

Standing  here,  I  muse  upon  the  time, 

When  turn  ing  from  the  countless  treasures  poured 

Into  Hispania's  lap,  her  daring  son, 

Balboa,  crossed  the  heights  and  saw  beyond, 

With  joy,  this  crystal  sea  before  him  spread. 

And  marching  into  it  with  sword  in  hand, 

There  in  the  name  of  his  loved  king  and  queen, 

He  took  possession ;  and  with  lusty  arm 

Upraised,  vowed  to  maintain  against  all  foes, 

Be  they  his  brethren  in  the  one  true  faith, 

Or  hated  infidel,  this  mighty  claim. 


And  change-producing  centuries  since  then 
Have  swept  o'er  land  and  sea;  and  thy  fair  shores 
Have  been  the  scenes  of  wasting  wars ;  but  now, 
Men  speaking  various  tongues  dwell  here  in  peace 
While  through  the  Golden  Gate  is  sweeping  in, 
On  ships  of  stately  mold,  the  far-famed  wealth 
Of  Indus,  which  of  Eld,  Columbus  sought. 


Midway  between  the  summit  of  the  cliff 
And  its  firm  base  the  swarthy  fisher  stands, 
And  casts  his  line  into  the  vasty  deep, 
And  patient  waits  the  fruit  of  all  his  toils. 


THE    PACIFIC  69 

The  dashing  foam  breaks  o'er  him  ;  and  around 
The  curlews  screaming  fly  ;  and  far  above 
The  ceaseless  moaning  of  the  waves  is  heard 
The  sea-lion's  plaintive  call. 


Now  as  I  gaze  upon  this  restless  sea, 
The  gray  mists  like  a  heavy  curtain  rise; 
And  I  can  stand  and  see  to  where  there  seems 
A  barrier  that  shuts  from  out  my  view, 
The  golden  visions  lying  far  beyond. 


And  so  I  often  think  is  Life :  the  veil 

Is  sometimes  lifted,  and  our  eyes  can  see 

The  while  into  the  future  ;  but  there  still 

Is  a  vast  space  that  we  would  seek  to  pierce, 

Shut  out  forever,  and  we  look  in  vain. 

Now  as  I  go  in  silence  from  this  scene 

That  I  may  not  in  future  view  again, 

My  heart  shall  think  in  coming  days  upon 

This  mighty  Ocean,  as  a  type  though  faint 

Of  vast  Eternity  that  stretches  far 

Beyond  the  dark  and  silent  shores  of  Time. 


70  HIIFFTINO    SCENES 


(ooo 

MODERN  mansion — fair  and  tall, 
With  pictures  rare  upon  the  wall, 
And  many  a  brilliant-lighted   hall— 
This  is  my  home. 

Rich  music  floats  upon  the  air 
And  drives  away  each  pressing  care  — 
Oh !  could  there  be  a  spot  more  fair, 
Than  this  my  home. 

In  the  far  distance,  mountains  blue 
Rise  ever  on  the  raptured  view, 
And  add  new  grace  and  beauty  to 
This  lovely  home. 

And  though  November  breezes  blow. 
They  bring  no  chilling  hail  or  snow, 
But  perfumes  from  bright  flowers  that  grow 
Around  my  home. 


A  house  with  low  moss-covered  eaves 
On  which  each  blast  of  autumn  weaves 
A  coronet  of  golden  leaves — 
That  was  my  home. 


TWO    HOMES  71 


No  frescoed  walls  nor  paintings  rare, 
Nor  parlors  filled  with  taste  and  care, 
Nor  stained  glass  nor  winding  stair 
In  that  old  home. 

And  yet  my  heart  goes  back  each  day 
^long  Life's  weary  rugged  way, 
To  that  dim  cottage;  and  I  say, 
"Here  is  my  home." 

Sweet  memories  of  the  Long  Ago 
Round  it  a  veil  of  beauty  throw, 
And  Fancy  adds  a  brighter  glow 
To  this  dear  home. 


Ufie 


HE  world,  you  say,  seems  cold  to-day 
And  denies  you  its  pleasures  sweet  ; 

But  in  coming  days  if  you  win  its  praise 
It  will  cast  its  crowrns  at  your  feet. 

It  smiles  on  none  before  they  have  won 
The  prize  they  have  long  had  in  view  ; 

And  a  promise  to  pay  will  not  win  your  way 
For  it's  older  and  wiser  than  you. 


72  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Toil  on  through  the  years  'mid  trials  and  tears 
And  the  shadows  will  vanish  away, 

And  your  weary  feet  stand  on  mountain  tops  grand, 
In  regions  of  jubilant  day. 

The  world  will  outpour  its  costliest  store 
If  you've  treasures  to  spare  of  your  own  ; 

And  when  you  shall  reign  o'er  a  princely  domain, 
It  will  build  you  a  radiant  throne. 

Oh  !  then,  it  will  smile  upon  you  the  while, 
And  'mid  its  fair  honors  you'll  live, 

But  the  love  that  can  bless  the  heart's  loneliness 
Is  not  in  its  power  to  give. 


LINKS    IN    AN    ALBUM  73 


an 


'OU  ask  for  some  lines  for  these  pages  ; 

What  kind  would  you  value  most,  pray  ? 
A  story  of  long  vanished  ages, 

Or  one  of  our  own  present  day  ? 

Shall  I  tell  you  of  woman's  devotion, 
How  she  patiently  waits  through  the  years 

For  a  lover  who  sailed  on  the  ocean 
Whose  gallant  ship  never  appears  ? 

Shall  I  tell  you  of  hearts  that  are  sighing 
For  one  kind  word  of  comfort  and  cheer, 

That  the  light  from  some  life  is  fast  dying 
AVhile  plighted  love  weeping  sits  near? 

Shall  I  tell  you  'tis  better  each  duty 
Is  done  with  a  true  patient  hand, 

Than  be  honored  for  talent  or  beauty 
By  the  proud  and  the  great  of  the  land  ? 


As  when  on  the  oft-changing  phases 
Of  ocean,  of  sky,  and  of  land, 

The  painter  devotedly  gazes, 
He  pauses  with  pencil  in  hand ; 


74  .SHIFTING    SCENES 

So  Life's  varied  scenes  lie  before  me ; 

But  when  in  their  presence  I  come, 
I  feel  their  deep  influence  o'er  me 

And  I  stand,  and  shall  ever  stand — dumb. 


<aJ\ 


HE  weak  alone  are  ever  changing  sides, 

But  only  change  as  change  the  winds  and  tides  ; 

They  aimless  drift  upon  a  shoreless  sea 
Consistent  but  in  inconsistency. 

If  we  but  know  which  way  their  minds  are  bent 
We  know  the  course  of  public  sentiment; 

As  the  slight  vane  upon  the  steeple  shows 

The  points  from  whence  the  varying  zephyr  blows 

Saints  with  the  pious,  friends  with  the  debased, 
Each  impress  they  receive  is  soon  erased  ; 

As  Ocean's  tide,  far  sweeping  o'er  the  land, 
Blots  out  the  lines  we  write  upon  the  sand  ; 

Yet  will  they  strive  by  many  an  artful  show 
To  compensate  for  wh.it  they  fail  to  know  ; 


A    FRAGMENT 

But  every  effort  serves  but  to  impress 
Us  with  the  force  of  their  own  littleness ; 

The  world  will  value  at  its  proper  weight 
Each  action  so  diverse  and  complicate. 

The  great  are  simple;  and  we  ever  see 
True  greatness  is  but  true  simplicity. 

Self-conscious  of  their  worth,  they  do  not  feel 
An  innate  weakness  they  would  fain  conceal; 

Grand  is  their  every  deed,  and  grand  each  aim  ; 
They  seek  not,  yet  they  gain  an  honored  name ; 

They  rise  superior  to  each  circumstance 

And  prove  Success  lies  not  in  Birth  or  Chance ; 

That  'tis  not  from  without,  but  from  within 
Must  come  the  power  by  which  the  goal  we  win. 

What  though  the  while  some  royal  despot  reign 
And  rear  his  golden  statues  on  the  plain  ! 

They  will  not  bow  the  head  nor  bend  the  knee, 
Though  flames  of  Persecution  they  may  see, 

Lit  by  the  hands  of  Envy  round  them  rise 
All  eager  waiting  for  the  sacrifice. 


76  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Such  were  the  men  who  once  their  sails  unfurled, 
And  turned  their  course  unto  a  new-horn  world, 

And  found  upon  this  side  the  stormy  sea 
A  home  from  tyranny  and  tyrants  free ; 

O  noble  heroes !     Your  example  will 
Live  on  increasing  in  its  power,  till 

Each  despot  stern  phall  tremble  on  his  throne, 
And  gloomy  Bastile  crumble  stone  by  stone. 

Here  liberty  her  torch  hath  lit  once  more 
That  shone  so  dimly  on  the  Old  World's  shore, 

Until  it  seemed  its  feeble  flickering  light 
Would  sink  into  the  gloom  of  endless  Night. 

Oh !  may  the  zeal  with  which  we  guard  its  fires 
Prove  us  the  worthy  sous  of  worthy  sires. 


AT   THK    SPRINGS 


77 


tfte 


A    MORNING    SCENE 

HE  sun  is  rising  in  his  pride ; 

The  shadows  fall  unto  the  west 
And  veil  the  distant  mountain-side  ; 

But  from  each  glory  circled  crest 

The  mists  have  fle.l;  and  gladsome  Day 
There  sits  enthroned,  and  sends  below 

His  light  cohorts  in  bright  array, 
To  drive  afar  his  darksome  foe. 

I  see  the  curling  smoke  arise 
From  rustic  cottage  far  and  near ; 

And  listening  with  glad  surprise, 
The  sounds  of  morning  greet  rny  ear. 

The  village  now  is  all  aglow 
With  busy  life;  the  tread  of  feet 

And  hum  of  voices  come  and  go 

Along  each  narrow,  winding  street. 

I  sit  within  an  arbor ;  near 

The  spring  is  bubbling  bright  and  pure  ; 
The  throng  with  mingled  hope  and  fear 

Here  turn  from  Art  to  Nature's  cure. 


78 


SHIFTING    SCENES 

Some  seek  alone  relief  from  care, 
And  coming  hope  to  leave  behind, 

Within  the  city's  stifling  air, 
The  troubles  that  oppress  their  mind. 

Here  Age,  nov*  leaning  on  its  cane, 
Hopes  to  prolong  its  lease  awhile ; 

And  joyous  Youth,  still  free  from  pain, 
With  festive  sports  the  hours  beguile. 

Within  the  shadow  of  a  tree 

The  swarthy  huntsman  checks  his  steed 
The  idle  crowd  draw7  near  to  see 

The  antlered  deer,  whose  winged  speed 

Had  served  it  well  oft-times  before  ; 

But  all  in  vain  its  recent  flight ; 
The  bullet  sped — its  race  was  o'er — 

And  life  went  out  in  endless  night. 


The  stage  comes  rattling  in  amain  ; 

The  skillful  driver  perched  on  high, 
With  steady  hand  now  draws  the  rein, 

Nor  deigns  to  glance  at  standers  by. 

Soon  like  the  huntsman  he  shall  take 
Hib  leave  of  us;  for  year  by  year 

The  strides  of  Empire  westward  make 
More  circumscribed  his  narrow  sphere, 


AT   THE    SPRINGS 

The  race  still  grows  more  wise  and  weak, 
Nor  skill  nor  learning  can  atone 

For  ills  bequeathed ;  and  oft  we  seek 
Surcease  from  evils  all  our  own. 

But  here  we  come  and  live  awhile, 
As  lived  our  fathers  in  the  days, 

Ere  Luxury  with  soothing  smile, 

Had  won  man  from  Life's  simple  ways. 

We  breathe  the  pure  fresh  mountain  air ; 

The  morning  breezes  fan  our  cheek  ; 
Strange  scenes  await  us  everywhere, 

And  Nature  brings  the  help  we  seek. 


tFie 


79 


T 


AN    EVENING    SCENE 


HE  moon  is  looking  down  to-night 
Upon  a  scene  as  wild  and  weird 

As  ever  in  Time's  ceaseless  flight, 
To  Poet's  vision  has  appeared. 

Like  sentinels  the  mountains  rise, 

And  guard  about  our  rude  retreat ; 
"While  in  the  distance,  starry  skies 
With  broken  headlands  seem  to  meet. 


SHIFTING    SCENES 

With  darker  hues  the  pines  are  tinged; 

In  softer  outlines  now  appear 
The  barren  rocks ;  the  hills  are  fringed 

With  deepening  shadows,  grim  and  drear. 

I  look  across  from  height  to  height, 
While  like  some  fair  enchanted  scene, 

Some  vision  of  the  silent  night, 
Our  mountain  village  lies  between. 

I  see  below,  the  people  wend 

Their  way  unto  the  fountain  there  ; 
While  strains  of  music  sweet  ascend 
Like  incense  on  the  evening  air. 

Some  silvery  voiced  singer  near 
Delights  her  audience,  and  they  own 

By  many  an  oft  repeated  cheer, 
The  power  of  each  magic  tone. 

I  cannot  hope  my  simple  lays 
Will  thus  be  greeted ;  but  I  wait 

In  silence  till  the  coining  days 
Shall  speak  and  tell  me  of  their  fate. 


INDEPENDENCE    DAY  — 1886  81 


SONG  to-day  for  all  the  brave, 
Who  in  the  field  or  on  the  wave, 
Laid  down  their  lives  our  land  to  save 
From  foreign  tyranny. 

Theirs  was  the  smoke  and  din  of  War, 
The  wound  that  left  a  deathless  scar, 
The  dreary  night  without  a  star — 
To  shed  its  brilliancy. 

Ours  is  the  golden  reign  of  Peace, 
The  joy  that  comes  when  sorrow's  cease ; 
The  glowing  Morn  whose  beams  increase 
In  deep  intensity. 

They  builded  better  than  they  knew ; 
There  opened  not  unto  their  view 
The  glorious  visions  reaching  through 
The  centuries  to  be. 

It  is  for  us  and  ours  to  know 
The  blessings  that  tbe  ages  owe 
To  hearts  and  hands  that  struck  the  blow 
That  gave  us  liberty. 


SHIFTING    SCENES 

And  from  the  East,  where  Plymouth  strand 
Once  saw  a  feeble  Pilgrim  band 
Chant  in  strange  accents  wild  and  grand 
The  anthems  of  the  free ; 

And  from  the  valleys  of  the  West 
By  Nature's  hand  so  richly  blest, 
There  swells  to-day  from  many  a  breast 
A  joyous  melody. 

No  party  lines  our  land  divide, 
For  patriotism's  rising  tide 
Sweeps  o'er  the  Nation  far  and  wide 
Like  a  resistless  sea. 

And  from  the  discord  of  the  past, 
The  fife's  shrill  tones,  the  trumpet's  blast, 
Falls  sweetly  on  our  ears  at  last — 
A  golden  symphony. 


SEPARATION  83 


!>p  oration 


joyous  youth,  the  peasant  and  the  peer 

Play  side  by  side; 
Nor  think  the  harriers  in  some  coming  year 
Shall  them  divide. 

Ere  long  it  dawns  upon  their  troubled  gaze, 

They  know  not  why, 
There  is  a  time  to  come  when  their  pathways 

Apart  must  lie. 

And  then  one  goes  an  honored  place  to  fill 

Beside  the  throne ; 
The  other  born  to  Jowly  stations,  still 

Lives  on  unknown. 


And  so  it  was  with  us  ;  in  days  of  yore 

Our  every  aim 
Was  common  ;  and  each  would  not  ask  for  more, 

Than  both  could  claim. 

But  it  was  whispered  once  upon  a  time, 

That  your  pathway 
Would  sometime  lead  you  on  to  heights  sublime 

Of  fairest  dav. 


84  SHIFTING    SCENES 

They  said  that  by  your  genius  you  should  rise 

To  higher  spheres ; 
And  even  then  my  heart  could  scarce  disguise 

Its  gloomy  fears. 

For  well  I  knew  our  paths  would  soon  divide, 

And  that  no  more 
Together  we  would  view  the  swelling  tide 

Or  silent  shore. 

For  unto  you  a  meaning  they  conveyed, 

I  had  not  known  ; 
Your  soul  held  converse  with  each  tiny  blade 

And  wayside  stone. 

And  while  I  walked  through  Nature's  lighted  hall 

And  looked  in  vain, 

You  saw  the  strange  Handwriting  on  the  Wall, 
And  made  it  plain. 


Beneath  the  sun  that  'lumines  all  the  sky 

The  dim  star  pales ; 
You  shine  on  mountain  heights  afar,  and  I 

In  lowly  vales. 


JENNIE    ON    THE    BANKS    OF    BONNIE    DOON  85 


ffte  Ji>an&&  oj?  B 


year  ago  I  left  her  side, 
With  many  a  promise  to  return  full  soon, 
And  claim  her  as  my  own  dear  bride, 
Fair  Jennie  on  the  banks  of  Bonnie  Doon. 

The  hawthorn's  breath  perfumed  the  air, 
The  river  glowed  beneath  the  silver  moon, 

The  world  to  me  seemed  doubly  fair, 

With  Jennie  on  the  banks  of  Bonnia  Doo:i. 

I  sailed  across  the  ocean  wide, 

I  built  a  home  beneath  the  skies  of  June, 
Yet  through  each  passing  day  I  sighed 

For  Jennie  on  the  banks  of  Bonnie  Doon. 

But  many  letters  come  to  me, 

I  read  them  o'er,  at  eve,  at  morn,  at  noon, 
They  tell  of  friends  across  the  sea. 
And  Jennie  on  the  banks  of  Bonnie  Doon. 

I  know  she  keeps  a  faithful  heart, 
And  I  shall  See  her  lovely  form  full  soon, 

And  when  we  meet,  no  more  I'll  part 

From  Jennie  on  the  banks  of  Bonnie  Doon. 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


©Jooo 

SIT  by  the  side 

Of  my  fair  young  bride, 

With  the  wealth  of  her  bright  golden  tresses ; 
And  yield  me  the  while 
To  her  soft  loving  smile 

And  the  joy  of  her  tender  caresses. 

I  know  in  her  heart 

She  keeps  ever  apart 
My  image  with  sacred  devotion  ; 

As  Evening's  star 

Is  reflected  afar 
In  the  depths  of  the  infinite  O<:ean. 

But  dark,  dreamy  eyes 

Before  me  arise, 
Deep  passion  and  sorrow  revealing  ; 

And  the  magical  thrill 

Of  a  voice  that  is  still 
Is  silently  over  me  stealing. 


WASTED    HOUllS  87 


sun  to  sun, 
All  tasks  I  shun  ; 

My  efforts  are  hut  seeming; 
Each  passing  day 
Has  slipped  away, 

In  useless,  idle  dreaming. 

I  seek  my  ease 
AVhere  softest  breeze 

Steals  through  the  leafy  bowers  ; 
But  still  I  find 
That  peace  of  mind 

Comes  not  with  wasted  hours. 

For  moments  slain 

In  doleful  strain 
Still  tell  their  mournful  story ; 

Their  pale  ghosts  rise 

Before  my  eyes, 
And  shake  their  tresses  gory. 


88  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Fair  wreaths  we  save 
For  all  the  brave, 

Who  striving,  are  defeated ; 
But  none  for  those 
Who  from  their  foes 

Ignobly  have  retreated. 


Too  late,  too  late, 

I  mourn  my  fate ; 
Stern  Habit's  chains  have.bound  me ; 

And  I  have  laid 

The  stones  which  made 
The  barriers  that  surround  me. 

And  when  Life's  o'er, 

And  I  before 
His  Presence  stern  am  bidden, 

Shame-faced  I'll  stand, 

Within  my  hand, 
The  talent  I  have  hidden. 


WITHIN  89 


HILE  through  the  woodland's  depth  I  strayed, 

I  saw  a  lonely  wounded  bird ; 
But,  oh !  the  music  that  it  made 

Was  sweeter  than  I  e'er  had  heard. 

And  so  the  poet's  song  shall  grow 

More  bright  amid  Life's  darkest  hour; 

As  in  our  homes  the  lights  will  glow 

When  Evening's  shadows  round  us  lower. 


<J\  teeffer  fo  myy/  Motfier 

HE  days  have  glided  into  weeks, 
And  the  weeks  into  months  have  passed, 

And  it  has  been  a  year  to-night, 
Since  I  wrote  to  my  mother  last. 

But  when  I  left  my  dear  old  home, 

That  home  so  far  away, 
Oh !  well  I  know  I  promised  then, 

I'd  write  her  a  letter  each  day. 


90  SHIFTING    SCENES 

And  I  was  faithful  for  awhile, 

And  I  know  it  gave  her  joy, 
And  brought  to  her  careworn  face  a  smile, 

When  she  heard  from  her  absent  boy. 

And  as  she  looked  on  the  dreary  fields, 
All  wrapt  in  their  mantles  of  snow, 

She  read  in  my  letters  of  lands  afar, 
Where  the  orange  blossoms  blow  ; 

Of  valleys  wide  whose  rivers  glide 
O'er  glittering  sands  of  gold, 

And  the  varying  seasons  of  the  year 
New  beauties  still  unfold. 

But  treasures  rare,  and  faces  fair, 
That  I  met  in  my  wanderings  here, 

Drove  from  my  fickle  mind  the  while 
The  thoughts  of  my  home  so  dear. 

And  then  my  letters  shorter  grew, 
Till  at  length  I  ceased  to  write, 

But  I  know  it  would  cheer  my  mother's  heart 
To  hear  from  her  boy  to-night. 

So  I  will  sit  down  and  write  to  her, 

And  I'll  beg  her  to  forget 
The  pain  I  have  caused  her  in  the  past, 

And  I'll  say  that  I  love  her  yet. 


A    LETTER   TO   MY    MOTHER  91 

"Here's  a  letter,  sir."     "Ah  I  it  is  from  home ; 

I  am  glad  you  brought  it,  my  boy  ; 
I  hope  it's  good  news,  for,  oh !  to-night 
My  heart  is  a  stranger  to  joy." 

"  Dear  Brother :  I  scarce  can  hold  my  pen ; 

I  have  such  sad  words  to  write  ; 
I  know  it  will  fill  your  heart  with  grief, 
For  our  mother  died  to-night. 

"  She  had  been  failing  for  a  year, 

Though  the  doctors  did  all  they  could ; 
And  during  the  weary  mouths  she  was  ill, 
The  neighbors  were  kind  and  good." 


And  she  is  dead.     I  had  not  thought 

So  soon  from  her  to  part ; 
But  there's  one  thing  doctors  cannot  cure, 

And  that  is  a  broken  heart. 

And  yet  I  trust  as  she  looks  down 
From  the  glorious  realms  of  light, 

Her  loving  eves  will  read  with  joy 
The  letter  I  wrote  her  to-night. 


92  SHIFTING    SCENES 


iFfte  ^affei)  of 


H !  have  you  seen  this  valley  fair, 
With  sunlit  fields  and  dreamy  air, 
And  grand  old  pictures,  quaint  and  rare — 
This  valley  of  rfan  Joaquin  ? 

Oh !  have  you  seen  the  mountains  blue 
That  change  anon  to  deeper  hue 
As  if  to  hide  from  human  view 
This  valley  of  San  Joaquin? 

Its  river  like  a  silver  thread 
Glides  through  its  narrow,  winding  bed; 
It  seems  by  fairies  tenanted — 
This  valley  of  San  Joaquin. 

All  softly  steals  the  balmy  breeze 
Through  fragrant  groves  of  orange  trees ; 
With  joy  the  wayworn  traveler  sees 
This  valley  of  San  Joaquin. 

Like  some  fair  gem  it  nestles  here, 
With  varying  hue  throughout  the  year ; 
'Mid  every  change  to  me  most  dear — 
This  valley  of  San  Joaquin. 


REMEMBRANCE 


93 


f?e  me  m"6  ranee 

OW  welcome  to  our  ears  the  songs  of  birds 
As  through  the  leafy  woods  our  footsteps  stray ; 

Like  sounds  of  loved  and  dim-remembered  words 
They  soothe  our  hearts  and  cheer  our  lonely  way. 

How  sweet  it  is  when  e'er  we  chance  to  see 
Within  the  dreary  desert  wastes,  a  flower 

That  sheds  around  its  fragrance  rich  and  free, 
And  holds  us  gently  by  its  subtle  power. 

How  dear  to  us  vvhen  in  a  distant  land 
To  meet  with  hearts  that  beat  in  unison  ; 

To  know  there  is  a  kindly  helping  hand 

Will  speed  us  on  our  way,  though  many  shun. 

And  when  in  future  years  I  view  again 

Scenes  of  my  early  youth,  still  held  most  dear, 

My  heart  amid  all  change  will  cherish  then 
The  memory  of  friendships  formed  while  here. 


94 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


<a)\ 


E  may  not  choose  our  paths  below, 

Nor  cross  the  narrow  bounds 
That  still  confine  us  as  we  go 
Upon  our  daily  rounds. 

But  visions  of  the  far  away  — 

The  beautiful,  the  true  — 
Bright  glimpses  of  a  fairer  day  — 

Still  come  to  greet  our  view. 

I  breathe  the  cityrs  stifled  air, 

I  tread  its  paths  of  stone  ; 
And  'mid  the  crowds  that  idly  stare. 

I  walk  my  way  alone. 

As  if  upbuilt  by  magic  hands, 
Fair  temples  round  me  rise  ; 
And  treasures  rare  from  distant  lands 
.  Here  meet  my  wondering  eyes. 

Wealth,  Beauty,  Fashion  walk  the  street 

Kich  music  greets  my  ear  ; 
Each  day  this  thought  I  still  repeat, 

"Man  rules  supremely  here." 


A    SUMMER    FANTASY 

But  far  beyond  the  crowded  street 
And  the  city's  gilded  domes, 

I  see  the  fields  of  yellow  wheat, 
And  the  quiet  country  homes. 

1  bear  the  humming  of  the  bees, 
All  through  the  summer  day  ; 

And  in  the  shadows  of  the  trees, 
I  see  the  lambs  at  play. 

I  breath  again  the  balmy  air 
That  tells  of  fragrant  flowers  ; 

And  shield  me  from  the  sunlight's  glare, 
In  blossom-laden  bowers. 

I  turn  to  look  on  mountains  grand, 

And  valleys  fair  between — 
But  works  of  Art  on  every  hand, 

Dispel  the  cherished  scene. 

Again  the  noise  and  din  of  Trade 
Shut  out  all  pleasing  sounds ; 

And  I  still  make,  as  I  have  made, 
The  city's  beaten  rounds. 

But  in  my  heart  is  a  vision  fair, 

And  a  joyous  melody  ; 
As  the  shell  bears  with  it  everywhere, 

The  music  of  the  Sea. 


96 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


©eeoralton 


O  those  who  fought  and  bravely  fell 
In  sunny  field  or  shady  dell  — 

In  battle's  stern  array  — 
To  those  that  gave  their  lives  that  we 
Might  be  a  Nation  great  and  free  — 

A  tribute  now  we  pay. 

For  those  behind  the  prison  bar 
Who  watched  the  conflict  from  afar 

And  slowly  pined  away  ; 
For  those  who  died  from  lingering  pain 
And  fever  wasting  heart  and  brain, 

Fair  flowers  we  bring  to-day. 

For  all  the  bravest  of  the  land, 
Entombed  in  Mausoleums  grand, 

Where  patriots  homage  pay, 
For  those  who  sleep  in  graves  unknown, 
Bedewed  by  Nature's  tears  alone, 

We  bring  the  flowers  of  May. 


SHE    MUST    NOT    KNOW  97 


fte  MuAf  Rof 


)  PASS  her  by  with  look  so  stern  and  cold, 
For  she  must  ne'er  my  life's  devotion  know, 

Though  my  fond  heart  her  image  still  doth  hold 
As  stars  are  mirrored  in  the  lakes  below. 

She  must  not  know  my  being  turns  to  her 
'Mid  hope  or  fear,  in  shadow  or  in  shine; 

As  Ocean's  deepest  depths  the  moon  doth  stir, 
Her  presence  still  uplifts  each  thought  of  mine. 

She  is  so  near  to  me,  and  yet  so  far  — 

Wealth,  Beauty,  Rank  intrude  themselves  between, 
E'en  Genius  crowned  could  scarcely  burst  the  bar, 

Could  Love  dare  scale  the  heights  that  intervene  ! 

No,  no,  not  in  these  last  degenerate  days 
Hath  love  the  power  it  had  in  days  of  yore  ; 

We  faint,  we  fail  —  and  favored  Fortune  sways 
Our  hearts,  our  lives,  our  actions,  more  and  more. 

Yet  Eros,  Love  divine,  doth  hold  me  still 
A  willing  captive;  but  she  must  not  know, 

Her  voice,  her  look,  can  wake  a  deepening  thrill, 
That  stirs  my  being  to  its  depths  below. 


98  SHIFTING    SCENES 


©afif 


orna 


this  winding  stream  once  bloomed  the  rose, 
Untrained,  unnoticed  in  the  distant  Past  ; 
While  on  the  frail  wigwams  of  savage  foes, 
The  cloud-capped  mountain  tops  their  shadows  cast. 

Across  this  fertile  valley  roamed  the  deer, 
And  on  its  rich,  luxuriant  herbage  fed, 

Till  came  the  strong  and  hardy  pioneer, 
And  saw  a  paradise  before  him  spread. 

The  years  have  fled  ;  before  the  steady  flow 
Of  that  vast  tide  that  keeps  its  Westward  way, 

Have  passed  with  lingering  footsteps,  sad  and  slow, 
The  rude  possessors  of  that  bygone  day. 

And  now  a  thriving,  village,  fair  to  see, 

Adds  grace  and  beaut}'  to  this  ample  plain  — 

A  busy  hive  of  human  industry  — 

Where  through  the  seasons.  Peace  and  Plenty  reign. 

My  lot  was  cast  within  a  distant  state, 

Where  Summer  fades  too  soon  upon  the  sight; 

And  chilling  Winter  conies  and  lingers  late, 

Ere  Springtime  lifts  from  Kurth  her  mantle  white. 


A    CALIFORNIA    VILLAGE  99 

But  here  at  last  in  western  lands  I've  seen — 

What  oft  in  song  and  story  I  have  read — 
Amid  December,  valleys  robed  in  green, 

With  happy  warblers  singing  overhead. 

Here  Art  and  Nature  are  together  blent ; 

Beneath  his  vine  and  fig  tree  as  of  yore, 
The  husbandman  may  sit  in  sweet  content, 

And  feel  his  days  of  toil  and  hardship  o'er. 

I  see  around  me  lofty  spires  arise 

From  many  a  house  of  prayer  and  of  praise, 

Still  teaching  us  to  look  unto  the  skies, 
Whence  come  the  blessings  that  have  crowned  our  days. 

And  Education  too,  the  handmaid  fair, 

Of  all  the  arts,  has  now  her  temples  here, 
Where  youthful  minds  are  trained  with  tender  care, 

And  formed  and  fitted  for  a  higher  sphere. 

The  sturdy  blacksmith  with  his  ringing  blows, 

The  preacher  toiling  for  a  better  day, 
The  skilled  physician  tried  and  true  who  goes 

Through  storm  or  sun  on  his  unwearied  way  ; 

The  busy  merchant,  cheerful  and  polite; 

The  editor  with  quiet,  careworn  face, 
All  with  a  noble  end  and  aim  unite 

To  bless  and  beautify  this  lovely  place. 


100  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Fair  as  thy  past  has  been  yet  fairer  still, 
I  trust  shall  be  thy  future ;  may  each  year 

New  beauty  add  unto  each  sunlit  hill, 

And  bring  fresh  joys  thy  lovely  vales  to  cheer. 

And  when  in  coming  days,  my  fancy  roams 
Back  o'er  the  weary  waste  of  Space  and  Time, 

I'll  think  of  California's  generous  homes, 
And  people  bright  and  genial  as  their  clime. 


H  !  the  dreary  clouds  of  darkness, 

Oh !  the  anguish  and  the  sorrow, 

Oh !  the  want  and  destitution 

In  this  land  of  light  and  freedom, 

Foremost  in  its  wealth  and  learning. 

'Mid  the  pleasures  of  the  feasting 

Comes  a  skeleton  to  haunt  us  ; 

Comes  and  mocks  us  with  his  presence, 

Driving  from  our  hearts  all  gladness. 

As  the  rift  at  first  so  tiny 

In  the  lute,  grows  deep  and  deeper, 

Till  the  discord  in  the  music 

Jars  upon  our  finer  feelings, 

So  this  wail  now  rising  upward 

Mars  the  songs  our  hearts  are  singing. 


O    TEMPORES,    O    MORES  !  101 

As  I  musing,  look  about  me 
See  the  varied  oppressions, 
See  the  wrecks  so  sadly  strewing 
All  the  shores  of  Time,  and  listen 
To  the  moaning  of  the  night-wind, 
Bearing  seaward  notes  of  sadness, 
Surely,  say  I,  we  have  fallen 
On  an  age  of  deep  dishonor ; 
Strong  desire  and  earth-born  passion 
Have  repressed  all  pure  emotions ; 
Man  is  base,  and  from  the  garden 
That  he  once  so  loved  and  cherished 
Chastity's  white  rose  has  vanished, 
Crushed  by  poisonous  embraces 
From  rank  tendrils  round  it  twining. 
As  the  savage  warrior  weareth 
Trophies  of  his  murdered  victims 
So  his  pale  faced  brother  boasteth 
Of  fair  hopes  that  he  has  blasted — 
Of  sweet  faith  beneath  him  trampled  ; 
How  again  some  blissful  Eden 
Had  been  entered  by  the  serpent 
And  some  modern  Eve  awakened 
From  the  spell  about  her  woven, 
And  had  vainly  prayed  that  Nature 
Might  in  pity  ever  shield  her 
From  the  gaze  of  earth  and  heaven. 
Well  she  knows  that  men  will  shun  her, 
Or,  if  seeking,  drag  her  deeper 
In  the  mire  that  lies  about  her. 


102  SHIFTING    SCENKS 

Well  she  knows  her  sister  woman 
Never  will  forgive  her  weakness ; 
But  shall  welcome  her  betrayer 
When  some  day  he  casts  her  from  him 
As  a  child  an  idle  plaything 
When  it  fails  to  please  its  fancy. 
As  the  trained  and  skillful  huntsman, 
Seeks  the  wild  deer  and  the  chamois, 
Knowing  well  their  haunts  and  habits, 
Plans  and  studies  to  entrap  them, 
Teaches  all  unto  his  fellows 
That  shall  follow  in  his  footsteps ; 
So  have  men  made  it  their  study 
Ever  to  encompass  woman 
With  the  wiles  that  in  all  ages 
Oft  have  been  but  too  successful. 

This  is  why  that  in  our  feasting 
Comes  a  skeleton  to  haunt  us ; 
This  is  why  there  is  a  discord 
In  our  sweetest  strains  of  music. 
'Tis  because  from  out  the  garden 
That  men  once  so  loved  and  cherished, 
Chastity's  white  rose  has  vanished, 
Crushed  by  poisonous  embraces 
From  rude  tendrils  round  it  twining. 


103 


PON  a  mountain  bleak  and  bare, 
I  found  a  rosebush  blooming  fair. 


I  brought  it  from  that  desert  place, 
My  pleasant  valley  home  to  grace. 

I  guarded  it  through  summer  days, 
And  shielded  it  from  fiercest  rays. 

But  ere  th6  frost  touched  hill  or  dale, 
I  saw  its  crimson  blossoms  pale. 

Nor  Spring  with  its  refreshing  showers 
Could  e'er  revive  those  withered  flowers. 

Lone,  wandering,  I  saw  one  day 
A  humble  cot  beside  the  way. 

Within  its  door  a  fair  maid  stood, 
Just  merging  into  womanhood. 

The  tender  love  that  touched  my  own, 
Found  in  her  heart  an  answering  tone. 

Oh!  come,"  I  said,  "from  cottage  walls 
And  fairer  bloom  in  statelv  halls. 


SHIFTING    SCENES 

1  Oh !  come  and  grace  a  roseate  bower, 
Thine  own  sweet  self  the  fairest  flower." 

When  to  my  home  I  came  that  day, 
Love  smiling,  lighted  all  the  way. 

There  tears  of  Doubt  and  Faith's  sunshine 
Made  its  growth  seem  the  more  divine. 


The  years  have  passed ;  I  ope  to-night 
A  box  long  hidden  from  the  light. 

A  faded  rose  is  lying  there 
Beside  a  tress  of  golden  hair. 

"Ah!  me,"  with  saddened  heart  I  say, 
"Whate'er  I've  prized  has  passed  away. 

"I  never  more  will  love  again 
For  highest  joy  brings  deepest  pain." 


BECAUSE  105 


ND  wouldst  thou  ask  why  I'm  not  so 

Devoted  as  of  yore? 
And  why  I  leave  thee  now  to  pine 

In  sadness  evermore? 

And  dost  thou  ask  me  why  my  love 
Hast  grown  so  cold  to  thee, 

Who  in  the  long,  long  summers  past 
Hast  been  so  dear  to  me? 

Then  I  will  tell  thee,  maiden  fair, 
Why  things  should  thusly  seem; 

It  is  because  it  costs  so  much 
To  keep  thee  in  ice  cream. 


106  SHIFTING  SCENES 


PRIZE  all  other  things  above, 

A  picture  fair ; 

With  soft  brown  eyes  that  dream  of  love, 
And  auburn  hair. 

Oh!  could  those  lips  speak  now  to  me, 

As  in  past  days, 
'Twould  be  far  sweeter  melody 

Than  worldly  praise. 

We  walk  through  fragrant  bowers  unknown, 

With  raptured  eyes; 
The  flower  that  blooms  for  us  alone 

Unnoticed  dies. 

But  still  there  comes  an  hour  to  all, 

When  they  shall  sigh 
For  visions  fair  beyond  recall — 

Passed  heedless  by. 

Oh!  what  to  me  that  I  have  made 

Myself  a  name; 
Too  great  a  price  is  sometimes  paid 

For  earthly  fame. 

And  sorrow  yet  wou  Id  lose  for  me 

Its  deepest  stings, 
But  for  the  sweet,  sad  memory 

Of  better  things. 


NOT    AN   EARTHLY    KINGDOM  107 


Rot  an  Gartftfi) 


E'VE  followed  Thee  through  good  report  or  ill 
Across  the  hills  and  dales  of  Galilee  ; 
Our  hearts  with  awe  and  wonder,  saw  Thee  still 
The  angry  storm  -swept  sea. 

We  saw  Thee  calm  amid  the  mighty  throng, 
Which  moved  by  reverence  or  fiendish  hate, 
Had  crowned  Thee  king,  or  hurried  Thee  along 
To  a  blasphemer's  fate. 

We  saw  Thee  burst  the  portals  of  the  tomb, 
Where  Lazarus  was  laid  with  tender  care  ; 
We  saw  Thee  with  Thy  smile  dispel  the  gloom 
That  long  had  rested  there. 

We  follow  not  for  loaves  and  fishes  ;  still 
We  know  Thou  comest  of  the  kingly  line; 
And  thousands  would  obey  Thy  royal  will, 
Whose  hearts  are  wholly  Thine. 

And  we  had  hoped  through  all  these  passing  days, 
To  see  Thee  crush  the  haughty  Roman's  power; 
But  we  have  hoped  in  vain  ;  and  o'er  our  ways 
The  clouds  still  darkly  lower. 


108  SHIFTING    SCENES 

But  sometimes  when  we  look  into  Thy  face, 
And  see  Thy  heart  oppressed  with  grief  or  care, 
We  think  no  earthly  crown  could  ever  grace 
That  brow  divinely  fair. 

And  though  there  be  no  kingdom,  crown,  nor  throne; 
Though  we  still  live  'mid  unavailing  strife, 
We  cannot  leave  Thee  ;  for  Thou  hast  alone, 
Words  of  Eternal  Life. 


<$n©Lepen<iLence   ©ay 

LING  out  the  starry  flag  to-day 

And  let  its  bright  folds  kiss  the  breeze ; 

Its  glorious  reign  hath  checked  the  sway 
Of  Tyranny,  o'er  lands  and  seas. 

A  century  hath  seen  it  wave 

Above  a  Nation  great  and  free  ; 
Upborne  by  strong  hands,  true  and  brave, 

'T  will  wave  through  centuries  to  be. 

For  that  which  floated  o'er  our  sires 

On  Hampshire's  hills  and  Georgia's  plain, 

And  caught  the  glow  of  Freedom's  fires. 
Their  faithful  sons  will  dare  maintain. 


INDEPENDENCE    DAY  109 

0  peaks  that  climb  to  crowns  of  snow ! 

O  sunlit  hills  and  fertile  plains ! 
Thy  sacred  soil  must  never  know 

The  clanking  of  a  despot's  chains. 

For  yet  the  air  is  resonant 

With  burning  words  our  fathers  spoke, 
When  with  a  zeal  no  power  could  daunt, 

They  rose  to  break  their  galling  yoke. 

The  grass  is  green  where  sleep  the  free ; 

But  every  blade  a  tongue  hath  found 
Their  praise  to  sing;  and  patriots  see 

An  altar  in  each  sacred  mound. 

And  Liberty,  fair  Goddess,  stands 

With  lighted  torch  upon  our  shores  ; 
And  captives  see  in  distant  lands 

Its  bright  rays  pierce  their  prison  doors. 

Then  visions  fair  their  sad  hearts  cheer; 

With  joy  they  look  on  it  afar 
As  the  lone,  wandering  mariner 

Tarns  hopeful  to  his  guiding  star. 


Waft  gentle  breeze  to  farthest  zones 

Our  songs  of  victory  to  all , 
Till  earth-born  tyrants  yield  their  thrones 

And  Hate's  dark  barriers  crumbling  fall ; 


HO  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Until  wherever  Freedom  lies 
A-bleeding  'neath  Oppression's  blow 

Another  Washington  shall  rise 
To  smite  the  proud  Usurper  low. 


Awhile  the  soaring  eagle  cowered 
When  brethren  met  in  deadly  feud, 

And  the  red  front  of  Battle  lowered 
And  wrapt  the  land  in  widowhood. 

The  flaming  gun,  the  bursting  shell, 
The  ever  vengeful  bayonet, 

Have  done  their  work — and  done  it  well- 
As  saddened  hearts  remember  yet. 

But  Nature  doth  her  lessons  teach ; 

Her  loving  hand  fair  flowers  doth  lay 
Upon  the  lowliest  grave  of  each 

\Vho  wore  the  Blue  or  wore  the  Gray. 

May  we  her  favored  children  own 
The  love  a  common  mother  shows ; 

Nor  deign  to  build  a  Vandal's  throne 
Upon  the  wrecks  of  vanquished  foes. 


Thou  who  didst  lead  the  Pilgrim  bark 
Across  the  stormy  ocean  wide, 

Through  all  its  devious  wanderings  dark, 
Our  Ship  of  State  still  safely  guide. 


INDEPENDENCE    DAY 

Save  us  from  storms  that  round  us  lower 

With  partisan  malignity; 
Save  us  from  Concentrated  Power, 

And  that  foul  fiend,  dread  Anarchy. 

Teach  us  Injustice  to  oppose, 
Though  seated  on  a  gilded  throne; 

Teach  us  to  feel  another's  woes, 

And  make  each  patriot's  cause  our  own. 

Aid  us  against  each  power  that's  sent 
By  Iron  Rule  to  crush  the  free — 

Or  on  our  own  broad  continent, 
Or  loneliest  island  of  the  sea. 


We  feel  the  thrill  of  newer  life , 
And  nobler  thoughts  our  beings  sway  ; 

For  party  hate  and  party  strife 
Evanish  on  our  natal  day. 

The  dark  war-clouds  no  more  appall ; 

The  North  sends  greeting  to  the  South  ; 
The  sword  hangs  rusting  on  the  wall, 

And  birds  build  in  the  cannon's  mouth. 

By  more  than  bands  of  tempered  steel 
The  West  unto  the  East  is  bound ; 

Together  sleep  their  warriors  leal 
On  Freedom's  latest  battle-ground. 


Ill 


112  SHIFTING    SCENES 

And  from  Dakota's  prairies  wide 
To  Mexic  Gulf  'neath  tropic  sun, 

From  shores  wave-kissed  on  either  side, 
Swells  forth  the  anthem — We  are  one. 

One  in  each  patriotic  cause 
That  nerves  to  deeds  of  gallantry ; 

One  in  support  of  equal  laws, 
One  in  a  common  destiny. 


OH!    SING   ME    A    SONG  H3 


©ft!   i)ing  Me  a 


H  !  sing  me  a  song  of  the  olden  times 
When  my  spirit  was  joyous  and  light, 

For  the  music  sweet  of  its  golden  chimes, 
Is  ringing  in  my  he'art  to-night. 

I  have  wandered  far  from  my  native  home, 
And  listened  to  the  cold  world's  praise, 

But  still  I  sigh  wherever  I  roam, 

For  the  friends  of  the  good  old  days. 

Then  keep  your  music  so  light  and  gay, 
To  please  the  fancies  of  the  throngs 

That  live  for  the  joys  of  the  passing  day 
And  are  charmed  by  its  heartless  songs. 

But  sing  me  a  song  of  the  long  ago, 
And  like  the  sweet  harpest  of  Old, 

You'll  drive  from  my  presence  the  spirit  of  woe 
That  would  wrap  me  in  its  shadowy  fold. 


114 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


Roi 


or 


HO  glides  in  through  my  sanctum  door, 
And  brings  a  paper  written  o'er 
A  half  a  mile  in  length  or  more — 
Each  day  to  show  it. 

Who  walks  the  streets  with  vacant  stare, 
And  seedy  clothes  and  unkempt  hair, 
And  lives  on  blasted  hopes  and  air — 
The  sad-eyed  poet. 

My  head  is  aching,  and  my  eyes 
Are  weary;  I  can  scarce  disguise 
Each  gloomy  fear  that  doth  arise — 
To  him  I  owe  it. 

WTill  I  not  help  his  genius  rise 
That  now  is  lurking  in  disguise 
Until  it  soars  the  azure  skies — 
Not  if  I  know  it. 


And  yet  the  music  from  that  lyre 
Shall  grandly  mount  from  high  to  higher, 
For  with  the  kindling  for  the  fire, 
I  now  will  stow  it. 


MEMORIAL    DAY 


115 


Memonaf   $s)ay 

GAIN  we  come  from  out  our  homes 


''^\\'      ™T-*V,  giow  an(j  soiemn  tread, 

To  scatter  flowers  upon  each  mound 
Where  sleep  the  patriot  dead. 

We  bring  the  rose,  the  fairest  flower 
Our  mother  earth  can  yield, 

AB  crimson  as  the  blood  that  flowed 
On  many  a  gallant  field. 

We  bring  the  drooping  lily  pale, 
With  loving  heart  and  hand, 

An  emblem  of  the  Dove  of  Peace 
That  hovers  o'er  our  land. 

We  come  to-day  from  far  and  near — 

From  valley,  hill  and  plain- 
Above  these  sacred  altars  to 
Renew  our  pledge  again, 

Through  all  the  coming  years  to  be 
Still  loyal,  firm  and  brave, 

And  with  our  life  defend  the  land 
These  heroes  died  to  save. 


116  SHIFTING  SCENES 

Some  of  us  here  with  trembling  steps, 
Remember  well  the  day, 

When  those  who  sleep  so  peaceful  now, 
So  proudly  marched  away. 

And  oftentimes  their  hearts  grew  faint 
While  watching  from  afar, 

They  saw  the  surging  to  and  fro 
Of  the  red  tide  of  War. 

Oh !  many  a  daring  deed  was  done 
By  gallant  hearts  and  true, 

Where  the  Potomac's  hills  of  gray 
Melt  into  peaks  of  blue. 

And  many  a  maiden's  rosy  cheek 
Grew  like  the  lily  white, 

While  listening  to  the  fearful  news 
From  Gettysburg's  famed  height. 

But  Georgia's  plains  no  longer  hear 
An  army's  conquering  tread ; 

From  Mississippi's  placid  breast 
The  iron  fleets  have  fled. 

The  thrush's  piping  notes  displace 
The  deep-toned  cannon's  roar ; 

The  spirit-stirring  trumpet  calls 
Unto  the  charge  no  more. 


MEMORIAL    DAY 

Where  once  they  met  in  deadly  feud 

And  madly  staked  their  all, 
Stern  veteran's  clasp  each  other's  hands 

Across  that  fatal  wall. 

And  when  we  see  one  common  land 

No  longer  rent  in  twain, 
Then  looking  on  our  dead,  we  know 

They  have  not  died  in  vain. 

So  meeting  here  from  year  to  year, 
We  swear  through  help  Divine, 

The  flag  they  loved,  undimmed  shall  float 
Above  the  Palm  and  Pine. 


118 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


M 


Y  ship  is  coming  o'er  the  sea, 

And  I  wait  each  passing  day 
To  catch  the  gleam  of  its  snowy  sails 

Through  the  mists  of  gathering  spray. 

It  has  lingered  long  amid  the  isles 

Of  the  dreamy  tropic  lands, 
Where  the  blue  waves  kissed  by  the  perfumed  breeze 

Break  on  the  golden  sands. 

But  yet  some  day  the  mists  shall  fade, 

And  the  clouds  will  pass  away ; 
And  my  ship  with  its  load  of  precious  freight 

Shall  anchor  in  the  bay. 

The  visions  of  my  childhood's  hours, 

And  the  dreams  of  my  later  years, 
Will  all  be  realized  the  day 

My  gallant  ship  appears. 


THE    LAW   OF    LOVE  119 


©Ifte  tacn  of 


ET  us  keep  amid  earth's  trials, 

Still  a  kind  and  gentle  tone  ; 
It  may  smooth  some  brother's  pathway, 

And  will  light  and  bless  our  own. 

Borrows  shared  are  sorrows  lessened  ; 

And  our  tasks  will  lighter  grow, 
If  we  bear  each  other's  burdens 

As  we  journey  here  below. 

If  we  knew  a  word  of  comfort 
We  might  speak  beside  the  way 

Could  revive  some  weary  traveler, 
Would  we  hoard  them  day  by  day  ? 

It  may  seem  of  little  value, 

And  we  may  not  know  while  here, 

That  one  deed  we've  done  in  kindness, 
Some  sad  home  has  filled  with  cheer, 

But  when  we  have  reached  that  country 
Fairer  than  our  hearts  have  known, 

We  shall  see  the  golden  fruitage 
Of  the  seeds  our  hands  have  sown. 

For  behind  the  deepest  shadows, 
Falls  the  sunlight,  full  and  free  ; 

And  beyond  these  sounds  discordant, 
Floats  a  heaven-born  melody. 


120 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


j?or   tfte 


E  have  read  in  song  and  story 
How  our  fathers  nobly  died ! 

Sons  of  Freedom  !     Heirs  of  Glory ! 
Have  we  lost  their  ancient  pride? 

Could  we  with  prophetic  vision, 
All  our  future  history  trace, 

Should  we  see  these  fields  Elysian 
Swarming  with  a  servile  race  ? 

Should  we  see  our  schools  of  learning 
Yield  unto  the  pagan's  shrine; 

See  strange  incense  daily  burning 
Where  our  altars  stand  divine? 

Shall  \ve,  heirs  of  all  the  ages, 
Leave  this  stain  to  coming  time, 

Blotting  all  the  future  pages 
Of  a  record  once  sublime! 

If  we  would  not,  then  united 
Let  us  now  and  ever  stand; 

And  from  heathen  hordes  benighted 
We  shall  free  our  own  fair  land. 


BEREAVED  121 


HE  stars  from  their  shining  track 
Each  night  look  down  on  the  sea ; 

But  nevermore  shall  come  back 
The  light  of  her  eyes  to  me. 

The  woods  in  the  spring  shall  rejoice, 
Enrapt  by  the  song-bird's  lay ; 

The  low,  soft  tones  of  her  voice 
Have  passed  from  my  life  away. 

The  tide  that  sweeps  o'er  the  land, 
Shall  press  each  day  on  the  shore ; 

The  thrilling  touch  of  her  hand 
I'll  feel  again — nevermore. 


122  SHIFTING   SCENES 


J 


'f  WOULD  not  forget  all  the  sorrows 

That  have  haunted  the  days  of  the  Past ; 
Though  oft  to  my  eyes,  unbidden  they  rise, 
And  o'er  me  their  dark  shadows  cast. 

I  know  that  its  gardens  have  withered, 
Where  my  feet  once  delighted  to  stray ; 

But  memory  brings  a  fragrance  that  clings 
To  its  flowers  more  sweetly  each  day. 

It  has  hopes  that  I  hold  as  most  precious; 

It  has  pleasures  too  sacred  to  share ; 
Some  fair  face  I've  known — a  word  or  a  tone — 

That  I  treasure  with  tenderest  care. 

And  oft  from  the  days  of  the  Present, 

Whether  joyful  or  sad  they  may  be, 
My  footsteps  will  stray  'mid  the  scenes  of  a  day 

That  shall  come — nevermore  unto  me. 

For  the  years  with  their  shadow  or  sunshine, 
Filled  with  quiet,  or  deep-stirring  strife, 

With  darkest  despair,  or  blessing  so  rare, 
Make  the  warp  and  the  woof  of  our  life. 

But  perhaps  in  the  glorious  Hereafter, 
Where  we'll  walk  with  unwearying  feet, 

Proud  Victory's  tones,  and  Defeat's  crushing  moans, 
Will  melt  into  symphonies  sweet. 


GOLDEN    WEDDING  123 


WO  streams  that  flow  from  sources  far  remote, 
Upon  whose  surface  lights  and  shadows  float ; 

While  odors  borne  upon  the  passing  gales, 
Are  wafted  from  the  blossom-laden  dales; 

The  songs  of  plurnaged  birds  from  leafy  bowers 
Fill  with  swreet  music  swiftly  fleeting  hours ; 

The  one  leaps  wildly  in  its  glad  career, 

And  gains  new  vigor  through  each  passing  year ; 

The  other,  soft  and  gentle  in  its  flow, 

Reflects  the  moonbeam's  mild  and  tender  glow. 

At  length  both  guided  by  some  hidden  force, 
They  near  each  other  in  their  onward  course  ; 

And  then  uniting  in  one  common  tide, 
Flow  calmly  to  the  ocean,  far  and  wide. 

Such  were  their  lives ;  in  morning  far  apart, 
Earth's  fleeting  joys  and  sorrows  filled  each  heart 


24  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Her  eyes  first  saw  the  light,  wherein  its  pride 
The  broad  Missouri  rolls  its  turbid  tide  ; 

His,  where  Ohio's  arrowy  form  glides  o'er 
Its  pebbly  bed,  by  fair  Kentucky's  shore. 

Their  homes  were  built  upon  the  rude  frontier, 
Where  oft  the  war  whoop  smote  upon  the  ear ; 

And  every  house  a  castle  rude  uprose 

To  shield  its  inmates  from  their  deadly  foes; 

Where  gentle  woman,  tender  and  refined, 

In  hours  of  need  the  gushing  wound  could  bind, 

Or  with  unerring  aim  speed  the  swift  ball, 
And  well  avenge  her  lord's  untimely  fall. 

May  we  their  children  on  this  peaceful  shore, 
Where  savage  foemen  roam  the  land  no  more, 

With  grateful  hearts  a  passing  tribute  pay 
To  the  brave  heroes  of  that  elder  day ; 

Who  crossed  the  mountains,  stemmed  the  raging  flood, 
And  mingled  with  the  soil  their  own  heart's  blood; 

And  dying,  left  a  priceless  legacy— 
The  right  triumphant  and  a  nation  free. 


A    GOLDEN    WEDDING  125 

Amid  such  scenes  their  early  lives  were  passed ; 
By  storms  surrounded  and  with  clouds  o'ercast ; 

But  gaining  still  from  trials  dark  and  drear, 
Faith,  hope  and  courage  for  each  coming  year. 

Youth  brought  its  change— but  only  in  degree — 
More  strong  and  brave  he  grew,  more  lovely  she ; 

He  longed  to  mingle  in  the  world  of  strife, 
She  but  to  grace  the  quiet  walks  of  life ; 

And  so  time  passed— both  feeling  incomplete 
Without  some  kindred  soul  their  own  to  greet ; 

And  that  there  was,  somewhere  on  earth  a  heart, 
That  was  of  each  a  perfect  counterpart. 

Such  thoughts  as  our  first  father  once  had  known, 
When  in  the  Garden  fair  he  walked  alone  ; 

Though  vague  and  undefined,  yet  needing  still, 
But  one  on  which  to  fix  the  wandering  will. 

Oh !  call  it  Fate  or  Fortune — what  you  may— 
Or  some  strange  fancy  of  the  passing  day, 

Yet  heart  seeks  heart,  and  soul  will  turn  to  soul, 
As  points  the  needle  to  the  distant  pole. 


126  SHIFTING    SCENES 

So  flowed  the  current  of  their  beings,  till 
They  blended  into  one,  and  then  each  will 

Was  subject  unto  each  ;  and  from  that  hour 
Their  lives  \vere  molded  by  love's  gentle  power. 


A  half  a  century  has  passed  away 

Since  the  fair  dawn  of  that  eventful  day ; 

A  half  a  century  of  hopes  and  fears, 

Of  mutual  joys  and  sorrows,  smiles  and  tears ; 

Of  trials  borne  such  as  might  well  dismay 
The  stoutest  hearts  in  this  degenerate  day ; 

For  soon  they  left  the  friends  that  they  loved  best 
To  seek  their  fortunes  in  the  Golden  West. 

Their  weary  feet  passed  o'er  that  arid  plain 
Where  through  the  seasons  come  not  dew  or  rain  ; 

And  from  Sierra's  peaks  of  azure  hue 

This  land  of  sunshine  burst  upon  their  view  ; 

And  here  where  Nature  smiles  with  fairest  face, 
They  found  at  last  a  humble  dwelling-place. 

And  children  came  that  little  home  to  bless 
And  fill  the  measure  of  its  happiness ; 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING 

A  mother's  prayers,  a  father's  counsels,  led 
Them  in  the  paths  their  untried  feet  must  tread. 

Then  one  by  one  they  left  that  blest  fireside, 
For  other  homes  in  the  great  world  outside ; 

Though  many  pledges  came  each  fleeting  year 
Like  angel-gifts  from  out  a  brighter  sphere, 

Yet  dark  or  bright  their  lot,  they  gladly  sought 
That  early  home  with  precious  memories  fraught. 

And  once  again — O  father,  mother  dear — 

We  come  with  glad  accord  your  hearts  to  cheer ; 

We  come — but  not  as  in  the  days  of  yore, 

For  care  and  toil  our  brows  have  furrowed  o'er ; 

And  Time  will  change  all  things  below  but  Love, 
And  that  is  changeless  as  the  realms  above. 

Yet  seldom  dawns  on  us  so  fair  a  day 

But  some  dark  shade  will  o'er  its  surface  stray  ; 

And  into  every  earthly  joy  intrudes 

Some  sorrow  that  shall  check  our  lighter  moods. 

For  two  have  gone,  that  shall  not  come  again ; 
We  listen  for  their  voices — but  in  vain  ; 


127 


128 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


And  as  we  view  our  childhood's  scenes  to-day, 
A  tribute  to  their  memory  we'll  pay. 

For  them  the  joys  and  griefs  of  life  are  o'er 
And  they  await  us  on  the  other  shore  — 

Bright  links  within  the  chain  of  endless  love 
That  binds  us  to  that  better  Home  above. 

But  wo  have  come,  our  filial  love  to  show— 
Your  children  as  in  days  of  long  ago  ; 

We  come  while  Autumn's  golden  tints  appear, 
And  golden  fruitage  crowns  the  closing  year, 

And  smiling  Plenty  drives  dull  Care  away, 
To  celebrate  your  Golden  Wedding  Day. 


Oh  !  may  the  love  that  blessed  that  nuptial  hour, 
Transforming  earth  into  a  roseate  bower, 

Illume  your  pathway  as  you  onward  go, 
And  in  Life's  sunset  still  more  brightly  glow. 


I    DREAMED    THAT    YOU    LOVED    ME  129 


reamec[  tftaf  ^/ou  f^ec(  Me 


DREAMED  that  you  loved  me  ; 
Your  words  soft  and  clear, 
Like  sweet  strains  of  music, 
Fell  on  my  glad  ear. 

Together  we  wandered 
The  dim  pathways  o'er, 

Renewing  the  pledges 
We  'd  'made  there  of  yore. 

We  recked  not  the  passing 
Of  Time's  sweeping  tide  ; 

For  earth  was  an  Eden 
With  you  by  my  side. 

The  soft,  dreamy  lovelight 
That  moistened  your  eyes, 

Was  like  the  blue  languor 
Of  Orient  skias. 

With  maidenly  blushes 
Your  cheeks  were  aglow,. 

Like  Evening's  sunset 
On  mountains  of  snow. 


130  SHIFTING    SCENES 

I  dreamed  that  you  loved  me- 
The  Morn's  early  light 

Dispelled  the  illusion 
And  wrapped  me  in  Night. 

But  my  best  hopes  of  heaven 
I'd  give,  if  I  knew 

That  waking  again,  I 

Might  find  that  dream  true. 


t; 


My    Moffter'A 


;IAT  quiet,  patient  face,  no  more — 
Vith  lines  of  care  long  furrowed  o'er 
Each  eve  a\vaits  me  at  the  door — 
My  mother's  gone. 


She  with  a  woman's  tender  grace, 
Of  every  "missing  link"  kept  trace ; 
Now  all  seems  wrong  about  the  place- 
My  mother's  gone. 

Books,  papers,  wildly  strew  the  floor, 
Like  surf  upon  a  storm-beat  shore  ; 
My  desk  with  ink  is  spattered  o'er — 
My  mother's  gone. 


MY  MOTHER'S  GONE 

My  socks— one's  black,  the  other's  white; 
My  handkerchiefs  have  vanished  quite ; 
The  clock  runs  down  'most  every  night— 
My  mother's  gone. 

The  dusty  pictures  on  the  wall, 

The  curtains  ready  now  to  fall, 

Proclaim  to  sundry  and  to  all — 

My  mother's  gone. 

Peace  like  a  frightened  dove  has  flown; 
"  From  turret  to  foundation  stone," 
John  Chinaman  now  rules  alone — 
My  mother's  gone. 

Come  back  o'er  mountain  height  and  plain, 
Come  to  this  waiting  heart  again, 
And  I  shall  cease  this  sad  refrain — 
My  mother's  gone. 


132  SHIFTING    SCENES 


I 


CLOSE  my  eyes — thy  form  I  see ; 
I  sleep— 'tis  but  to  dream  of  thee; 

I  wake— thy  presence  still  is  near ; 
I  listen — 'tis  thy  voice  I  hear. 

The  rosebud's  deepest  hues  but  speak 
The  blushes  that  suffuse  thy  cheek; 

Italian  skies  are  overhead ; 
I  see  thy  soft  blue  eyes  instead. 

The  tints  of  harvest  I  compare 
To  the  bright  radiance  of  thy  hair ; 

In  the  vast  Ocean's  depths  I  see 
An  emblem  of  my  love  for  thee. 

The  winds  that  kiss  thy  lips  to-day 
A  message  from  my  heart  convey ; 

And  though  the  plains  may  us  divide, 
And  mountains  rise  thy  form  to  hide, 

Yet  all  that's  fair  to  hear  or  see, 
Bring  to  me  visions  blest  of  thee. 


REST 


133 


IT  was  night  on  Galilee, 

And  the  winds  blew  loud  and  shrill, 
When  across  the  stormy  sea 
Came  the  accents,  "Peace,  be  still." 

Then  the  waves  that  lashed  the  shore 

Sunk  into  a  quiet  rest, 
As  the  child,  when  griefs  are  o'er, 

Sleeps  upon  its  mother's  breast. 

I  am  sailing  o'er  Life's  sea, 

And  the  storms  are  rude  and  chill; 

Clouds  are  lowering  gloomily, 

Savior,  speak  now,  "  Peace,  be  still." 


134  SHIFTING    SCENES 


tfte 


\R  separated  from  the  busy  throng 

That  strive  and  toil  through  the  long  summer  hours, 
I  musing,  listen  to  the  happy  song 
Of  tuneful  choirs  hid  in  the  leafy  bowers. 

Yon  pathway  climbing  up  the  mountain  side, 
Half  hid  by  towering  pines  and  fringed  with  flowers, 

Leads  outward  to  the  fertile  valleys  wide, 
Into  another,  larger  world  than  ours; 

But  not  more  fair  ;  though  man  no  temple  rears 
With  gilded  domes  and  long  drawn  aisles,  wherein 

The  humble  worshiper  entranced  hears 
The  prayers  that  ease  him  of  his  guilt  and  sin  ; 

Here  Nature's  open  book  before  him  lies  ; 

And  Nature's  voices  hymned  to  one  sweet  tune  — 
The  glad  green  earth,  the  soft  blue  summer  skies  — 

The  hope  and  promise  of  the  days  of  June  — 

All  these  uplift  him  to  a  higher  plane, 
And  melt  his  heart,  until  there  steals  within 

His  soul  an  earnest  longing  to  attain 
To  something  better  than  he  yet  has  been. 


IN    THE    MOUNTAINS  135 

The  breezes  bring  sweet  odors  from  afar ; 

The  while  through  all  my  veins  there  gently  thrills 
A  newer  life ;  and  Hope  like  a  bright  star, 

Shines  kindly  on  me  o'er  the  purple  hills. 

At  last  the  old-time  shackles,  that  so  long 
Held  me  in  their  half-fatal  thrall,  and  made 

My  chosen  life-work  fail  and  marred  my  song, 
With  the  dark  relics  of  the  Past  are  laid. 

As  priests  and  prophets  of  the  ancient  days, 
Turned  from  the  city  with  its  toil  and  strife, 

And  for  a  season  treading  lonely  ways, 
Prepared  for  the  great  mission  of  their  life ; 

So  here  alone,  save  for  some  choice  book  culled 
From  favorite  authors,  that  suggests  a  theme 

For  deepest  thought,  I  feel  my  senses  lulled 
To  calmer  moods,  by  voice  of  wood  and  stream. 

And  thus  by  meditation  I  may  know 
My  own  heart  better,  and  can  trace  the  course 

Of  all  my  secret  thoughts  and  deeds,  and  go 
Through  all  their  devious  wanderings  to  their  source ; 

And  knowing  well  my  heart,  I  hold  the  key 

That  will  strange  mysteries  to  me  unlock  ; 
As  living  waters  poured  forth  full  and  free 

When  Israel's  leader  smote  the  desert  rock. 


136  SHIFTING    SCENK8 


t' 


ffte 


I  IE  happy  throngs  here  pass  me  by — 

The  young,  the  gray,  the  witty ; 

Fair  visions  greet  ray  wondering  eye 

In  the  heart  of  the  mighty  city. 

They've  heard  the  call  from  East  and  West, 

By  flood  and  fire  invaded ; 
Their  names  shall  evermore  be  blessed 

By  hearts  that  their  hands  have  aided. 

No  voice  responds  unto  my  own — 

No  tender  throb  of  pity  ; 
Who  cares  if  I  should  die  alone 

In  the  heart  of  the  mighty  city  ! 


PARTED 


137 


<parfe@L 


HE  came  and  all  was  light; 
I  She  went  and  all  was  night ; 

For  a  joy  when  past 

Is  a  grief  at  last 
That  mocks  us  with  our  woe. 

Oh !  some  are  dear  to  me 
Beside  this  Western  Sea, 
But  the  one  fair  face 
With  its  nameless  grace 
Will  rise  where'er  I  go. 

The  arid  plains  divide 
Me  from  my  joy  and  pride, 
And  the  mountains  rise 
To  the  vaulted  skies 
To  hide  her  from  my  view. 

But  in  the  winds  that  blow, 
Her  voice  comes,  soft  and  low, 

And  where'er  I  roam, 

In  the  azure  dome 
I  see  her  eyes  of  blue. 


]38 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


reJ\ENYING  self  alone  we  rise; 

Life's  crosses  we  must  daily  bear 
If  in  fair  realms  beyond  the  skies 

Bright  crowns  unfading  we  would  wear. 

How  oft  we  see  some  cherished  hope 
To  sadness  and  despair  give  way, 

While  we  in  doubt  and  darkness  grope, 
Too  crushed  to  moan,  too  proud  to  pray. 

But  let  us  not  bewail  our  fate, 
Kor  sigh  because  of  seeming  loss ; 

By  fiery  trials  we  separate 
From  precious  gold  the  worthless  dross. 

And  so  He  tries  us  day  by  day, 
And  with  a  chastening  hand  He  drives 

The  base  and  sordid  parts  away  ; 
It  is  our  better  self  survives. 

We  press  our  hand  upon  the  strings 
And  they  give  forth  a  sweeter  sound 

We  crush  the  rosebud  and  it  flings 
Its  fragrant  odors  far  around. 


The  Master  knows  our  every  heart; 

He  knows  the  fairest  melody 
It  can  produce;  and  with  an  art 

Divine,  He  touches  every  key. 


MISTS  139 


Mi 


STAND  upon  a  mountain's  lofty  height; 

A  heavy  veil  hangs  o'er  the  depths  below  ; 
And  by  its  darkened  folds  it  hides  from  sight, 
The  purple  vineyards  and  the  brooklet's  flow  ; 

The  orchards  pendent  with  their  luscious  fruit, 
The  yellow  stubble  where  the  young  quails  call, 

The  tasseled  corn,  like  soldiers  stern  and  mute, 
The  jasmine  climbing  o'er  the  cottage  wall. 

Lo  !  from  his  quiver  now,  the  King  of  Day 

Speeds  his  swift  arrows  tipped  with  golden  light, 

Dispensing  warmth  and  beauty  on  their  way, 
And  driving  all  the  mists  of  morn  to  flight. 

So  oft  in  life  the  gathering  clouds  hang  o'er 
Our  pathway  here  ;  but  through  each  day  we  know, 

The  deepest  gloom  will  fade  His  smile  before, 
And  all  the  world  with  joyous  sunshine  glow. 


SHIFTING  SCENES 


SEE  before  me  now  a  beauteous  bloom 
Of  autumn  leaves;  a  deep  embroidery, 
Wrought  by  fair  hands  that  were  so  dear  to  me; 
It  leads  my  wandering  thoughts  to  that  dim  room, 

Wherein  she  sat  and  with  meek  patience  wove, 
The  while  the  hours  wing-footed  past  us  flew, 
Their  warp  and  woof  with  many  a  golden  hue ; 

While  I,  with  sad  forebodings,  vainly  strove 

To  drive  afar  thoughts  that  would  intervene ; 
For  well  I  knew  that  soon  we  two  must  part, 
And  that  the  web  that  bound  us  heart  to  heart 

Would  severed  be ;  and  this  sweet,  blissful  scene 

Become  a  precious  memory  of  the  Past. 
Oh,  ruthless  hand  of  Time !  it  oft  destroys 
Our  fairy  castles ;  and  for  present  joys 

Leaves  a  deep  sorrow  which  through  life  shall  last. 

But  not  the  pleasures  of  the  passing  day. 
The  light  of  smiling  eyes,  the  tender  grace 
Of  woman's  changeful  moods  can  e'er  displace 

That  love  which  holds  me  in  its  gentle  sway. 


AUTUMN    LEAVES 


141 


My  joys  have  faded ;  like  the  autumn  leaves, 
That  drift  adown  the  vale  before  the  breeze, 
They  darkling  lie;  but  Hope  a  spring-time  sees 

And  Faith  a  never-fading  garland  weaves. 


ummer 


H  ROUGH  my  window  there  floats  to-day, 
The  odor  from  new-mown  fields  of  hay. 

A  bird  is  singing  in  yonder  tree 
Its  self-taught  notes  of  ecstasy. 

The  honest  watchdog  barks  amain 
At  the  traveler  in  the  dusty  lane. 

I  hear  the  far,  faint  hum  of  bees 

That  gather  sweets  from  blossoming  trees. 

In  the  distance  the  village  lies, 
Glowing  'math  the  molten  skies. 

The  din  and  noise  of  its  busy  street, 
Die  ere  they  reach  my  far  retreat. 

Beneath  the  fig  tree's  ample  swav 
The  merry  feet  of  childhood  stray  ; 


142  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Soon  shall  they  leave  their  calm  abode 
To  walk  in  Life's  hard-beaten  road. 

The  winds  that  breathe  on  hill  and  plain, 
Sway  the  broad  fields  of  yellow  grain. 

I  see  the  toilers  in  sun  and  shade 
March  to  the  sound  of  the  reaper's  blade. 

They  have  found  a  far  more  precious  mine 
Than  the  Argonauts  of  "Forty  Nine." 

Where  rise  yon  circling  wreaths  of  smoke, 
Shielded  by  clusters  of  massive  oak, 

From  the  hot  noonday's  heat  and  glare, 
Is  a  country  mansion,  tall  and  fair. 

And  where  the  roses  white  and  red, 
On  the  balmy  air  their  fragrance  shed, 

And  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  play, 
A  humble  cot  stands  by  the  way. 

The  Iron  Horse  with  flaming  eye 

And  piercing  neigh,  sweeps  grandly  by, 

Drawing  the  richly  laden  car 

Of  grain  and  fruits  to  lands  afar ; 

And  dwellers  in  some  sister  state, 
Where  dreary  winter  lingers  late, 


A    SUMMER    SCENE 


143 


Shall  bless  these  shores  where  Plenty  stands 
And  scatters  gifts  with  lavish  hands. 


Like  the  liquid  depths  of  a  maiden's  eyes, 
Is  the  vaulted  dome  of  the  azure  skies; 

One  silvery  cloud  appears  to  view, 
Like  a  sail  afloat  on  the  ocean  blue. 


Wrapt  in  shadows,  solemn  and  grand, 
Far  to  the  Korth,  the  lone  Buttes  stand  ; 

They  rise  before  rne  in  dim  outline, 
Like  castles  old  on  the  dreamy  Rhine. 

Along  the  purple  eastern  skies, 
Sierra's  snow-crowned  peaks  arise; 

Beneath  the  sun's  fierce  glare  they  lie 
Like  a  shaft  of  light  athwart  the  sky. 

A  pale  mist  half  conceals  each  crest 
Of  the  mountain  range  upon  the  west ; 

But  nearer  and  clearer  stretch  away 
The  hills  of  gold  and  the  hills  of  gray. 


The  slanting  rays  of  light  now  fall 
On  vines  that  cling  to  roof  and  wall. 


144  SHIFTING    SCENES 

The  sun  Binks  slowly  to  his  rest 

Like  a  tired  child  on  its  mother's  breast. 

Night  gathers  round  me,  calm,  serene, 
And  darkness  veils  the  rural  scene. 

But  still  an  impress  has  been  made 
That  never  from  my  heart  shall  fade ; 

And  when  o'er  mountain  height  and  plain 
Within  my  home  I  stand  again, 

A  vision  fair  shall  come  to  me, 
Of  lands  beside  the  Western  Sea, 

Where  peaks  begirt  with  crowns  of  snow 
Look  down  on  sun-kissed  vales  below ; 

And  music  sweet  from  these  fair  climes 
Shall  mingle  in  my  after-rhymes. 


A    LESSON 


145 


AM  sitting  fondly  poring  o'er  a  volume  quaint  and  old, 

On  whose  pages,  truest  sages,  all  their  inmost  thoughts  unfold. 

And  they  tell  of  heavy  crosses,  of  the  loss  of  earthly  gain ; 
Of  sweet  friendship  changed  to    hatred,   pleasure    turned    to 
lingering  pain. 

And  one  paints  a  fairy  picture,    with  sweet  hope  and  patience 

rife, 
Of  the  love  and  the  devotion  of  an  earnest,  faithful  wife. 

Tells  of  vows  by  him  unplighted,  tells  of  bliss  to  him  unknown; 
Sings  of  mutual  joys  and  sorrows,  while  he  goes  through  life  alone. 

And  another  sings  so  sweetly  as  his  footsteps  sadly  roam, 
Sings  the  song  of  every  nation,  for  it  is  of  Home,  Sweet  Home. 

Not  for  him  its  rest  is  given,  not  for  him  its  bright  fires  burn  ; 
Not  for  him  loved  hands  shall  open  wide  the  door  for  his  return; 

But  he  walks  past  glowing  windows,  sees  a  haven  fair  inside  ; 
Sees  the  good  wife's  smiling  features,  sees  the  husband's  look 
of  pride. 


146 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


Not  the  one  that's  blest  with  treasures  rarest  that  the  world  can 
hold, 

But  the  wanderer  gazing  on  them,  of  their  precious  worth  has 
told. 

As  the  wife  that  long  has  waited  for  a  blessing  still  denied, 
£ees  in  dreams  a  form  of  beauty  nestling  fondly  to  her  side; 

P'eels  a  warm  breath  on  her  bosom,  feels  a  joy  a  mother  knows 
Hears  an  infant's  tender  wailing,   that  still  faint  and  fainter 
grows  : 

So  I  reach  out  in  the  darkness  for  a  hand  that  seemeth  near ; 
Listen  for  a  gentle  footstep — sweetest  music  to  my  ear. 


From  my  hand  the  book  has  fallen,  and  I  silent — dream  alone; 
While  I  feel  the  loss  so  deeply  of  a  love  I  ne'er  have  known. 


VACATION    MUSINGS 


147 


Read  before  the  YOLO  COUNTY  TEACHERS'  INSTITUTE,  at  the  Woodland 
Opera  House,  Thursday  Eve,  November  22, 1888. 

HE  narrow  walls  we  leave  behind — 

The  daily  paths  our  feet  have  trod — 

For  vaulted  dome  and  yielding  sod, 
And  wider  ranges  of  the  mind. 

We  dreaming  lie  'neath  Summer  skies, 
Beside  a  brook  whose  waters  flow 
From  mountains  crowned  with  virgin  snow, 

That  dimly  in  the  distance  rise. 

From  branch  to  branch  the  squirrels  spring ; 

The  birds  sing  sweetly  overhead; 

While  round  us  and  beneath  are  spread 
Fair  Nature's  richest  carpeting. 

The  West- wind  sways  the  stately  firs, 

And  their  soft  music,  sad  and  low, 

Like  echoes  of  the  long  ago, 
The  current  of  our  being  stirs. 

From  out  the  wreck  of  yesterdays 

Another  Argosy  we  freight, 

And  sail  beyond  the  narrow  strait, 
Past  headlands  bold  and  sheltered  bays ; 


148  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Nor  deem  our  wanderings  shall  cease, 

O'er  strange,  fair  lands  or  boundless  main, 
Till  homeward  we  return  again, 

And  bear  with  us  the  Golden  Fleece. 

Again  we  dream  the  dreams  of  Youth  ; 
Again  we  gird  our  armor  on, 
And  march  forth  in  Life's  rosy  dawn 

To  battle  bravely  for  the  Truth. 

Our  hearts  are  true,  our  faith  is  strong, 
And  full  of  cheer  the  songs  we  sing; 
Another  David  with  his  sling 

To  bring  to  earth  the  giant  Wrong. 

No  more  with  halting  steps  we  climb, 
By  slow  degrees,  from  height  to  height ; 
But  reach  at  once  by  sudden  flight 

The  topmost  summits  of  our  time. 

Nor  through  the  process  of  the  years, 
The  ripening  harvest  we  await, 
That  once  we  deemed  came  all  too  late 

From  seeds  we  sowed  'mid  doubts  and  fears. 

No  more  withheld  the  guerdon  meet 
For  toiling  hands  and  wearied  brain, 
And  hearts  that  soothe  the  pangs  of  Pain, 

Until  Life's  journey  is  complete. 


VACATION   MUSINGS  149 


The  shadows  fade ;  dark  discords  cease ; 

Falls  on  our  ears  a  silvery  chime  ; 

And  full  and  free  the  hand  of  Time 
Kings  in  the  thousand  years  of  Peace. 

The  gloomy  Bastile  overthrown, 
The  crumbling  crown,  the  hroken  chain, 
And  Freedom's  universal  reign, 

For  sad  Sarmatia's  tears  atone. 


As  when  we  gladly  turn  one  day 
From  distant  lands  to  childhood's  scenes, 
Across  each  league  that  intervenes, 

We  slowly  trace  the  lengthening  way. 

Expectant  Hope,  fleet  as  the  light 
From  orbs  that  'lume  the  distant  spheres, 
Flies  to  each  spot  of  former  years, 

And  paints  for  us  her  pictures  bright. 

Again  the  old  homestead  we  see ; 
Again  upon  its  threshold  stand, 
And  each  warm  pressure  of  the  hand 

Awakes  some  fondest  memory. 

But  Fancy  lays  her  wand  aside, 
And  Reason  stern  resumes  her  sway  ; 
Before  our  view  stretch  far  away, 

Snow-mantled  peaks  and  deserts  wide. 


150  SHIFTING    SCKNHS 

Our  thought  a  winged  Mercury,  soars 
Untrammeled  by  the  touch  of  clay, 
Beyond  the  purple  Gates  of  Day, 

To  fairest  climes  and  farthest  shores. 

Firm-paced  and  slow,  our  deeds  move  on  ; 
Though  resting  on  the  dumb  cold  ground, 
Like  towering  peaks  they  rise  sun-crowned. 

And  meet  and  greet  the  coming  dawn. 

O  magic  Thought !  Creative  Power ! 

That  filled  with  worlds  unmeasured  space, 
Arid  spoke  to  life  a  ij,ew-born  race, — 

Still  potent  in  the  present  hour. 

Or  gentle  as  the  zephyr's  sigh, 
Or  leaping  forth  in  words  of  fire 
That  voice  a  nation's  deep  desire, 

And  wake  to  deeds  that  never  die. 

Still  Homer's  deathless  lays  enshrine 

Great  Agamemnon's  victories ; 

The  lightnings  of  Demosthenes, 
Each  tyrant  fears  as  wrath  divine. 

Nor  less,  nor  more  deserving  praise, 
He  in  whose  fertile  brain  is  wrought 
Fair  pictures,  touched  by  subtle  thought, 

That  cheer  us  'mid  Life's  dustv  wavs, 


VACATION    MUSINGS  151 


Than  he,  whose  dauntless  spirit  leads 
To  unknown  lands  beyond  the  sea, 
Where  a  great  nation  yet  to  be, 

Shall  light  the  world  with  noble  deeds. 

And  as  the  years  shall  circle  011, 
Each  patriot  strikes  with  truer  aim, 
While  thinking  on  the  cherished  name 

Of  Leuctra  or  of  Marathon. 


The  past  still  in  the  present  lives ; 
Each  force  in  all  the  ages  gone, 
Though  still  unseen,  is  moving  on, 

And  to  our  lives  its  impress  gives. 

Yon  peaks  that  'rnid  the  silence  reign 
Were  slow-evolved  from  mother  earth 
Nor  rose  full-armed  in  sudden  birth, 

As  Pallas  sprang  from  Zeus's  brain. 


We  leave  behind  the  purling  stream, 
The  mountain  pathway,  cool  and  sweet, 
For  the  great  city's  crowded  street, 

Where  white  sails  in  the  harbor  gleam. 

On  pleasure  bent,  glide  to  and  fro, 
The  sons  of  Luxury  and  Ease ; 
And  Fashion's  foolish  votaries 

Sweep  by  pale  forms  of  Want  and  Woe. 


Io2  SHIFTING    SCENES 

Here  rarest  works  of  Art  we  see ; 

Here  Science  rears  her  lofty  fane ; 

And  Poverty  pleads  not  in  vain 
To  open-hearted  Charity. 


There  is  a  welcome  in  the  air ; 

A  greeting  in  the  outstretched  hand ; 

To-day  another  honored  band 
Our  hearts  and  homes  shall  freely  share. 

These  bear  aloft  no  banner  rent 
In  battlestorm.  by  shot  and  shell, 
But  pale  and  careworn  faces  tell 

Of  years  in  faithful  service  spent. 

The  Nation  crowns  each  gallant  deed 
Of  all  that  host  of  freemen  brave, 
Who  in  the  field,  or  on  the  wave, 

Have  served  her  in  her  hour  of  need. 

And  is  it  near,  or  is  it  far, 
When  we  shall  own  with  royal  will, 
That  smiling  Peace  hath  heroes  still 

As  worthy  as  grim-visaged  War  ? 

'Tis  meet  where  side  by  side  have  wrought, 
True  sons  from  lands  of  Palm  or  Pine, 
A  laurel  wreath  their  hands  should  twine, 

Alike  for  men  of  Deed  or  Thought. 


VACATION    MUSINGS  153 


That  we  should  teach  unto  mankind 
Our  chosen  creed:  "  We  prize  far  more 
Than  fabled  wealth  of  golden  ore, 

The  treasures  of  the  heart  and  mind." 


We  stand  the  heirs  of  ever}'  age ; 
For  us  Canova's  chisel  wrought, 
And  myriad-minded  Shakspeare's  thought 

Was  breathed  upon  the  living  page. 

The  Galileos  in  their  cells 

For  us  survey  the  universe ; 

And  Nature  like  a  kindly  nurse, 
To  them  her  prisoned  secrets  tells. 

For  us  a  brighter  hope  was  born  ; 

For  us  the  martyr's  blood  was  shed ; 

And  hours  of  darkness  and  of  dread 
Were  preludes  to  the  coming  morn. 

To  these  fair  lands  beside  the  sea, 
Bold  pioneers  have  cleaved  the  way, 
And  builded  for  a  better  day, 

And  greater  opportunity. 


Land  of  my  childood's  dreams !     <  >n  thee 
Italia's  deep  blue  skies  look  down, 
And  purple  grapes  of  Eschol  crown 

Thy  sunlit  vales  of  Thessaly. 


154  SHIFTING  SCENES 

Still  brighter  lead  thy  guiding  Btar  ! 
Until  the  tides  that  Westward  sweep, 
And  to  these  shores  their  progress  keep, 

Converging  here  from  realms  afar, 

Into  one  common  current  draw, 

The  Ancient  Hebrew's  cultured  heart, 
Hellenic  love  of  Lore  and  Art, 

And  Roman  fealty  to  Law. 


Beyond  my  eager  gaze  recedes 

Each  picture  touched  by  Fancy's  glow ; 

Stern  Duty  calls  me  and  I  go 
From  dreaming  thoughts  to  waking  deeds. 


EPIGRAMS 


155 


on 


ERE  lies  the  Iron  Chancellor; 

While  here  on  earth,  although  a 
Prince  with  realms  within  his  grasp, 
He  still  sighed  for  Samoa. 


(^^>  Marriage  &  ©Jaifure? 

HIS  is  a  question,"  says  the  sage, 

"That's  ever  wrapt  in  douht ; 
Since  those  who're  out  wish  to  get  in 
And  those  in,  to  get  out." 


Y  dear,  have  you  seen  my  last  poem?" 
I  said,  with  a  feeling  of  pride, 

As  I  parsed  her  the  half-open  paper, 
"I  hope  so,"  she  softly  replied. 


156  SHIFTING  SCENES 


©Jfte  ^affe^  of 


OME  with  me  where  nature  fair 
Shows  a  mother's  fondest  care; 
Through  the  seasons  of  the  year, 
Filling  homes  with  joy  and  cheer; 
Where  the  lights  and  shadows  play 
O'er  the  Valley  of  Capay. 

Orchards  dotting  hill  and  plain, 
Purple  vineyards,  waving  grain  ; 
Breezes  laden  with  perfumes 
Of  the  fragrant  orange  blooms, 
Greet  us  while  our  footsteps  stray 
Through  the  Valley  of  Capay. 

Music  through  the  sunny  hours, 
Songs  of  birds  in  leafy  bowers  ; 
Rural  scenes  that  charm  the  view, 
Mountains  changeful  in  their  hue  ; 
These  beguile  the  passing  day 
In  the  Valley  of  Capay. 

Here  the  sunbeams  softly  gleam 
On  the  bosom  of  a  stream, 
That  its  winding  way  doth  take 
From  a  calm  and  placid  lake  ; 
Brooklets  flow  and  fountains  play 
In  the  Valley  of  Capay. 


THE    VALLEY    OF    CAPAY  157 

Here  I  fain  would  spend  my  days ; 
Here  I'd  sing  my  sweetest  lays ; 
Here  would  end  my  latest  quest 
With  the  friends  that  I  love  best, 
Never  'mid  the  years  to  stray 
From  the  Valley  of  Capay. 


tfie 


HEY  had  gradually  gathered  together 
Those  veterans  grim  and  gray  ; 

And  many  a  scar  from  the  cruel  war 
They'd  carried  with  them  away. 

Some  there  had  fought  with  General  Grant 

And  some  with  General  Lee»; 
And  some  had  heen  with  Sherman 

In  his  famous  March  to  the  Sea. 

Oh  !  many  a  savage  fray  they'd  seen 

Upon  the  South-land  Plain; 
And  as  they  drained  their  glasses 

They  fought  them  o'er  again. 


158  SHIFTING    SCENES 

But  as  they  talked  of  battles  past, 
Fought  by  brave  hearts  and  true, 

The  fire  of  Hate  gone  out  of  late, 
Began  to  burn  anew. 

Then  far  in  a  corner  rose  a  man, 
He  was  old  and  gray  and  bent ; 

His  clothes  were  all  torn  and  tattered, 
And  on  a  cane  he  leant. 

Said  he  :  "  I've  stood  for  mciny  an  hour 
Where  the  shot  fell  thick  and  fast ; 

But  the  cruel  War  is  over; 
Let  the  Past  now  be  the  Past." 

Then  came  those  veterans  round  him 
And  tearful,  grasped  his  hand; 

And  said:  "  You've  spoken  sir,  aright; 
'Twill  be  as  you  command." 

And  they  drank  his  health  together 
And  his  eyes  grew  glad  and  bright, 

As  the  ruddy  drops  of  wine  out  poured 
Like  blood  in  a  deadly  fight. 

At  last  said  one :  "  Please  tell,  old  man, 
Where  you  got  those  gallant  scars  ? 

For  we  know  you've  many  a  tale  to  tell 
Of  long  and  cruel  warn. 


AFTER   THE    WAR  169 

"Was  it  at  Vicksburg's  long-drawn  siege, 

Or  on  Antietam's  plain ; 
Or  where  Lee's  veterans  scaled  the  heights 
Of  Gettysburg  in  vain?" 

The  old  man  answered;  and  his  look 

Was  sad  and  far  away ; 
"In  the  shot  tower  at  St.  Louis 
I've  worked  for  many  a  day." 


160 


SHIFTING    SCKNKS 


(Uo 


an 


@ 


ne 


ONELY  am  I  to-day. 

thou  art  far  away, 
Gone  like  a  silver  ray 

From  my  rapt  vision  ; 
Happiest  was  I  of  men  , 
Love  smiled  upon  me  then, 
Sadly  I  turn  again 

From  fields  Elysian. 

Swiftly  the  moments  glide 
While  sitting  by  thy  side, 
Heaven  is  opened  wide 

When  thou  art  nearest  ; 
Come  to  this  waiting  heart, 
Never  on  earth  to  part  — 
Truest  of  all  thou  art  — 

Fondest  and  dearest. 

Now  thou  no  more  art  nigh, 
Sadly  the  breezes  sigh 
For  the  dear  days  gone  by, 

And  thy  bright  laughter  ; 
But  to  my  far  retreat 
Comes  there  a  courier  fleet, 
Bringing  a  promise  sweet 

Of  the  Hereafter. 


MY    LOVE 


161 


eyes  are  like  the  June  skies, 
Her  hair  like  waves  of  light ; 
Her  dimpled  cheek  a  dainty  bunch 
Of  roses,  red  and  white. 

The  clink  of  yellow  treasures 
The  miser  loves  to  hear ; 

The  music  of  her  laughter 
Alone  can  charm  my  ear. 

She  meets  me  in  the  doorway, 
Her  fair  face  wreathed  in  smiles; 

And  with  her  arts  bewitching 
The  evening  hours  beguiles. 

I  come  and  sit  beside  her 
And  with  her  ringlets  play ; 

I  kiss  her  and  caress  her 

And  she  does  not  say  me  nay. 

Oh !  what  a  joy  I  deem  it, 
Her  fairy  form  to  hold — 

She  is  my  sister's  baby 
And  only  twelve  months  old. 


162 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


aJ\  Mother'  A  Yft 


HE  Day  its  oriflamme  of  light  has  furled  ; 
*  The  wing  of  Night  has  drooped  above  the  world  ; 

Around  the  hearth  we  come  with  love  and  cheer, 
Nor  gathering  clouds  nor  threatening  storms  we  fear  ; 

Some  innocent  amusement  free  from  guile, 
Serves  for  a  time  the  passing  hours  to  while  ; 

In  study  then  the  moments  pass  from  view, 
Till  evening  prayers  are  said  with  reverence  due  ; 

Then  like  the  bird  that  seeks  the  sheltering  nest, 
Each  weary  careworn  heart  prepares  for  rest  ; 

The  little  ones  retire  with  movements  slow, 
To  downy  beds  ;  the  lights  burn  dim  and  low  ; 

When  a  sweet  voice  breaks  on  the  silence  deep, 
Come  kiss  me,  mother,  ere  I  go  to  sleep." 

The  mother  stoops  to  where  her  darling  lies 
In  darkened  room,  with  eager-  waiting  eyes, 


A  MOTHER'S  KISS  163 

And  smoothing  back  from  that  young  brow  so  fair, 
AVith  loving  hands,  its  curls  of  auburn  hair, 

Gives  to  her  child  a  mother's  fondest  kiss, 
That  fills  its  tender  heart  with  purest  bliss  ; 

Till  gently  soothed  beneath  that  warm  impress, 
It  sinks  to  sleep  and  dreams  of  happiness. 

What  wonder  if  it  sweetly  sleep  to-night ! 
Or  if  its  face  be  radiant  with  light ! 

Or  if  it  softly  speak  as  though  it  heard 
Sweet  music  like  the  carol  of  a  bird ! 

Or  sees  some  heavenly  vision !  For  I  know 
I  saw  them,  too,  so  many  years  ago ; 

And  though  so  long,  I  well  remember  this — 
They  followed  close  upon  my  mother's  kiss. 

Though  we  are  many  miles  apart  to  night, 
Her  face  still  rises  to  my  tear-dimmed  sight ; 

I  see  her  as  I  saw  her,  years  ago, 

Witn  bending  form  and  footsteps  sad  and  slow, 

And  turning  to  her,  say  through  shadows  deep, 
Come  kiss  me,  mother,  ere  I  go  to  sleep." 

For  through  the  night's  dark  shades  I  sadly  miss 
The  lingering  fragrance  of  a  mother's  kiss. 


164 


SHIFTING    SCENES 


IS  something  to  have  sailed  bright  streams 
Though  beyond  the  billows  are  breaking ; 

T  is  something  to  have  dreamed  fair  dreams 
Though  they  end  in  a  sad  awaking. 

The  gains  and  losses  of  To-day 
Are  the  memories  of  To-morrow ; 

And  sweet  as  the  joys  that  light  our  way 
Are  the  somber  shades  of  sorrow. 


Go  little  book — each  line  inwrought 
With  my  heart's  best  distillation  ; 

And  whether  you  are  shunned  or  sought 
I  have  had  my  compensation. 


•I 


